


Not That Bad

by Staubengel



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 19:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staubengel/pseuds/Staubengel
Summary: It was supposed to be just another ordinary day in the bookshop. Instead, an Archangel in need shows up on Aziraphale's doorstep and asks him for help. Things get even more delicate when they realise that, in order to find a solution to this problem, they will need the assistance of a demon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silverfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverfox/gifts).



> This fic is based on a prompt by dear Silverfox, who requested that an Archangel in need of demonic help turns to Aziraphale. It's part of the Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2018 and will be posted bit by bit on AO3 now. Feedback is always much appreciated <3

It was a beautiful early summer day in the City of Westminster. For London, ‘beautiful’ meant that it was not raining, but in this particular case, it also meant that the sun was shining. It wasn’t hot, though, just pleasantly warm, with a fresh and cool wind bringing some air that was, if you were lucky, not completely infested with the smell of exhaust fumes.

Aziraphale was Spring Cleaning his bookshop today. For Aziraphale, ‘Spring Cleaning’ meant that he went around the shop and had a look at his books, decided whether some of them were in need of a rearranging, moved some book piles from here to there, decided he should sort them into their respective places, then found there was no space for them in the shelf they would belong to, and instead stacked them again in slightly different piles than before.

Sometimes, he would find a book he hadn’t looked at in a while and remember how happy and proud he was to actually own it, and then he would sit in his chair for a couple of hours, reading it.

Sometimes, he would remove some dust from the shelf tops, or would ask a spider if they would kindly move to the side for a moment so he could take out one of the books to check if he had properly catalogued it, and then he would get lost in refiling the endless lists of inventory that he had.

Eventually, he would shuffle over into his back room to make himself a nice cup of afternoon tea.

He had just sat down and had opened today’s reading, taken the first bite of his biscuit, when he felt a tingling go through his entire being. It was like an electrifying tickle, and it _unnerved_ him.

This tickle meant Heavenly presence.

He felt a tingling whenever Crowley was around, because Crowley (although Fallen) was of Heavenly origin, but he was used to that particular, Crowley-ish tingle. He would recognise this tingle amongst a trillion of others – which was actually how angels identified themselves. They could sense each other and distinguish their feelings, which helped a lot in recognising each other when you could change your exterior to whatever you wanted.

He loved that tingle.

 _This_ tingle, however, sent chills down his spine and made him freeze in his tracks. This tingle meant trouble. Trouble of the worst kind.

Slowly, he placed the biscuit back on the porcelain plate, closed the open book and put it on the side table, brushed some crumbs off his dark brown corduroy trousers, and got up from his armchair. Then he walked over to the door to the saleroom and carefully cast a glance around.

Where was he? He had to be around somewhere, even though Aziraphale hadn’t heard him come in.

Just as he was starting to doubt his own senses, a dark figure moved into the light coming from outside and he heard rattling in front of his shop door. Aziraphale had closed his shop under the pretext of aforementioned Spring Cleaning, but this ‘customer’ wouldn’t care about his plans whatsoever.

Sighing to himself, Aziraphale went over to the shop door and opened the locks.

Gabriel was standing in front of it.

Normally, Aziraphale’s insides turned into a clump of annoyance and repulse whenever his superior was near, and he had to muster the height of his efforts to try and stay calm around him. Today, however, something else mixed into this natural cocktail of upsetting feelings.

Aziraphale knitted his brows together in mild astonishment as he took in the appearance of the Archangel in front of his shop.

To understand Aziraphale’s state of mind, you have to understand this: Imagine a businessman. Not just _a_ businessman, actually, but _the_ businessman. Imagine seeing someone on the street and _knowing_ that they are the kind of person that runs the whole world; so impeccably dressed that designers and tailors learn from _them_ what to design and what to produce, so flawlessly composed that – even if you are an inveterate atheist – you _have_ to believe Someone put this together. Imagine Perfection could walk on two legs.

This was, usually, what Gabriel looked like.

What Aziraphale saw before him turned out to slightly differ from this, though.

Gabriel looked… off. For Gabriel, ‘off’ meant still better than approximately 99% of Earth’s entire population. But if you were used to him being neat as a pin for over 6000 years, you still kind of noticed.

There were slight circles underneath his purple eyes and a light shadow spreading over the lower part of his face. His tie was ever so weakly crooked and his hair looked uncombed, yet not really messy.

The most disturbing part of this entire ensemble of off-ness was his countenance, though. The air of absolute self-righteousness, conceitedness, and snobbishness was pushed aside to make space for an expression of sullen despair and _very_ reluctant helplessness.

It was the furthest away from Gabriel-ness than Aziraphale could imagine. For a moment, he wondered if it really was him.

But then he opened his mouth, and Aziraphale was very sure about it.

“Aziraphale. You’ve got to help me.”

Of course. No, “Hello, Aziraphale,” no, “I need your help,” no, “May I come in?”

Just, “You’ve got to help me.” Because it was a _given_ , and how could Aziraphale ever _dare_ not to help his superior?

He pressed his lips together and forced himself to smile. _Remember your New Year’s Resolutions_ , he told himself bitterly. _You’re an angel, and angels should be nice to one another._

And then, a little voice Aziraphale was almost embarrassed to house inside of himself added: _If you’re overly nice to him, it might actually annoy him in his current situation._

“Gabriel!” he warbled, trying to convince himself it was not _overly_ nice to act like this. “What an unexpected circumstance to see you here on such a lovely day! Don’t you want to come inside? I’ve made some tea!”

Gabriel’s glare told him that he was, in fact, being overly nice like this. A bit more concern would probably have been more appropriate right now. But Gabriel seemed to _really_ be desperate, as the look on his face changed back far too early and he shoved himself past Aziraphale without another word.

His usual smell of _Eau de Parfum_ was tinted by the slightest hint of something musty. For a moment, Aziraphale was genuinely worried about him.

He closed his shop door (closed and locked it, to be precise, now under the pretext of ‘unexpected visit by the boss’) and followed Gabriel over to his back room. Normally, Gabriel radiated confidence and power wherever he was, walking as upright as a ninety-degree angle. But if Aziraphale wasn’t completely wrong, it seemed like today, his shoulders were tense. Aziraphale almost regretted having moved the book piles out of the way earlier. In his current state, Gabriel might have tripped over one.

As he sat down, he leaned his forearms on his legs, hunching himself over. Aziraphale couldn’t remember ever seeing him sit like this. He wondered vaguely if Gabriel was even physically capable of actually crumpling up his clothes.

Wordlessly, he got another cup and filled it with Earl Grey. He placed it in front of Gabriel, then he sat down himself.

Suspicion was growing inside of him as he watched Gabriel’s features. If Gabriel was this tattered, something big had to be very off. Aziraphale only hoped that it wouldn’t turn out to be a bother for himself.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes; Aziraphale looking at Gabriel, Gabriel looking at his cup of tea that had a reddish gleam in the afternoon sunlight. Finally, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, Aziraphale cleared his throat politely.

Gabriel took the hint with a faint furrowing of his brow.

“I won’t glamourise my situation,” he said, and his voice sounded a little darker than usual. “I came here because I was hoping you had a book in your… collection that would help me out in a very delicate matter.”

Aziraphale noticed the way he said ‘collection’. The concern he had felt for him deflated a bit.

That Gabriel seemed to be the one in trouble, though, made Aziraphale perk up. He had been afraid that something was going on in Heaven, or – worse – even on Earth. But it sounded like it was exclusively related to the Archangel himself, and that (even though it again almost embarrassed Aziraphale to realise this) killed off all his worries and produced an alarming amount of gloating instead.

He should not delight himself in Gabriel’s trouble. But all the times Gabriel had been unbearably mean to him were feeding this feeling inside of him fat.

“What matter?” he asked and managed to avoid sounding excited. He was _burning_ to learn what Gabriel had gotten himself into. The all-too-perfect Archangel being so desperate that he was calling on _Aziraphale_ for help? This _had_ to be good! He almost wished he had one of those Sentient Phones Crowley used to record things with sometimes.

The shame Gabriel was going through was visible on his face. Aziraphale felt the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smirk and quickly covered his mouth with his teacup. Oh, this was _delightful_! He could practically feel Gabriel squirm!

“I have been summoned,” Gabriel finally told him.

Aziraphale spat some tea over his saucer.

Then he coughed.

Gabriel glowered.

“You –”

“I have been summoned!” Gabriel repeated. “Yes!”

Aziraphale blinked at him slowly, processing the information.

“But I thought,” he started tentatively, “that all Summoning Texts were destroyed by now. The Library of Alexandria. The Libraries of Constantinople. If I remember correctly, Heaven was very good at using what were extremely dramatic events for humanity in Its advantage to care for the convenience of all the angels who –”

“Apparently not!” Gabriel interrupted him with a snarl. “At least one book is still intact, and it has been used on me, as you can see.”

Aziraphale frowned and put his cup down.

So that was why Gabriel looked so roughed up. He had probably been on Earth for a few days now and had his angelic powers bound.

When angels or demons got summoned properly, they couldn’t break free from the bonds on their own. To go back to Heaven or Hell, they had to be dismissed by the person who had bound them. Should this person die before the releasing, things got a little more complicated.

As long as the bonds were still intact, the entity had to stay on Earth, without any possibility to contact Heaven. The only way to break free from the bonds was to please the summoner and make them release you. Or to find a way to get released in a different way. Which was, probably, exactly what Gabriel was here for.

Originally, these Summoning Texts had been invented to give strength to all the Believers who had fought against persecutions, had suffered religious wars, or had become a martyr of some kind. They had soon found out that it added some weight to your points in an argument if you had a winged creature with a flaming sword at your disposal. For said winged creatures, it usually meant suddenly being sucked out of Heaven and appearing wherever you had been summoned to, no matter your own circumstances. You could just hope to have a convenient appearance at hand, and to, ideally, be properly dressed.

Usually, when the deed was done, you got released again with no inconvenience. But, as humans are, things had gotten out of hand at one point.

Instead of summoning angels when in mortal danger or desperate need, people had started to summon them for lesser things. To see one, for example. To show off to your neighbour who had been annoying you for the last couple of years. To ask the angel to tell said neighbour that this was _your_ orange tree and that he was looting. To ask for a good word.

Naturally, both Heaven and Hell had become annoyed at these kinds of summonings, so it had been decided to get rid of the Texts. Over the years, all of them had been located and removed – in any way necessary.

They had been certain that all of the Texts were now gone. Nobody had been summoned in centuries.

That was, apparently, up until now.

“What exactly happened?” Aziraphale asked. “Who summoned you? Where to? For what? And how did you get here?”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. It was obvious that he was not happy about telling Aziraphale how all of this had happened, which, considering their relationship, was not really all too surprising. They had spent millennia getting on each other’s nerves, because both of them were unteachable pigheads who would not back down in the face of the other’s provocations. Aziraphale liked to be left alone and do whatever _he_ deemed right and just. Gabriel liked things to be done the way he ordered them and got cranky when Aziraphale didn’t obey. Granted, he had to run quite some paperwork Up There. But there was no denying the fact that he enjoyed having power over someone a bit too much.

Now, however, the tables had turned, and it was not Aziraphale trying to passive-aggressively avoid Gabriel interfering with his business, but Gabriel passive-aggressively asking him for help. Aziraphale had to acknowledge the very un-angelic fact that yes, this was definitely giving him satisfaction. The pang of shame he would expect from such an acknowledgement appeared to be on holiday or, more likely, had rage-quit the last time Gabriel had bothered him.

“I was summoned three days ago,” Gabriel finally started, “in Cologne, Germany. The summoner is a young woman, who did not intend to get into any of this mess here. She told me she found the Text when she was taking care of the Historical Archive. It collapsed a while ago. They had to clean the site and remove all the goods. She found the book in a secret, so far undiscovered chamber and took it with her.”

His tone became noticeably more annoyed. How anyone could be this ignorant and stupid seemed to surmount his wildest imaginations.

“She was more shocked than anything when I really appeared. Apologised a thousand times. We tried to find the passages that describe how to release me, but the Texts are incomplete. Pages of the book are missing or are absolutely unreadable. It’s impossible to release me with this. We have to find another way. And the only person I could think of who might actually possess something helpful in this matter...”

“… is me,” Aziraphale finished the monologue.

Gabriel looked so miserable that Aziraphale wanted to frame his face and hang it on a wall in his bookshop.

Confidence was flooding his insides. Gabriel was _dependent_ on him, completely and utterly _dependent_ , and he was – basically, in Gabriel-standards – _begging_ Aziraphale to help him. For once, Gabriel had to admit Aziraphale was _good_ at something. That his bookshop was _useful_ , and no waste of time.

The feeling Aziraphale had was close to what he would call ecstatic.

He leaned back and crossed his legs, raising his cup again and took a long sip.

Gabriel was _radiating_ suppressed anger and it was _glorious._ The gloating inside of Aziraphale burped in satisfaction.

“I might actually own a book that could help you,” he hummed, as if he had to think about it thoroughly first. “I would have to have a closer look at them, though. I am not entirely certain.”

Gabriel knew Aziraphale was tantalising him, you could tell by his glare. But he couldn’t say anything against it, because he needed Aziraphale to help him. Oh, this had to be one of the best days of Aziraphale’s entire life!

“I would be ever so much obliged to you,” Gabriel pressed out through gritted teeth, “if you could do so. Now.”

“Eager to get back to Heaven, are we?” Aziraphale stated and put his cup down, uncrossing his legs. “Haven’t they noticed you missing yet? Especially Raphael. Hasn’t he figured out where you are?”

A shadow crossed Gabriel’s face. For a second, Aziraphale felt ashamed for having gone too far.

It was no secret in Heaven – actually, it was basic knowledge – that Gabriel and Raphael were _very_ close to each other. You could say they knew each other in the Biblical sense. Far before Adam and Eve, they had been the first lovers that God had created. Being separated with no concrete prospect of Gabriel returning back to Heaven must be cruel for them. Even though Raphael could visit him on Earth, it had to be different not to be able to go home together.

“Raphael is Up There, covering for me,” Gabriel said. “The other angels can’t know where I am.”

“Why not? They too might be able to help you.”

Gabriel frowned deeply, clenching his jaw. It took Aziraphale a moment to realise what his expression meant.

“But they would taunt you, wouldn’t they? For being unlucky enough to be the only angel summoned in the past… what, 1000 years? 1500?”

Gabriel’s face was currently darker than the deepest pits of Hell could ever be.

Heaven was supposed to be Good, to be caring and loving and tender and nice. In reality, however, Heaven was just as horrible as any other institution filled with a whole ton of people who have to work together constantly and have developed a love/hate relationship which makes you jump on any possibility to mock your coworker and humiliate them right to the verge of the Geneva Convention stepping in. Even Raphael, who loved Gabriel with all the pureness God had ever implanted in the concept, had probably laughed at him when he had learned about his plight.

“I need to get back as quickly as possible,” was all Gabriel said to this.

Aziraphale nodded. “I will search my books,” he promised. “It could take a while, though. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Gabriel’s face told him that this was a very stupid question to ask. Aziraphale felt no regret in having asked it anyway.

“I don’t,” Gabriel made clear with a very grumpy undertone. “I have no money or anything with me whatsoever. Raphael was able to get a hold on some Euros, but I used them all up getting here. The worst part is that my powers don’t work, so I’m basically nothing more than a human. I can’t arrange things the way I want them anymore, I am dependent on things as they appear to be.”

Aziraphale hid his snorting by faking a cough. From the look on Gabriel’s face, the Archangel wasn’t buying it.

“What happens,” Aziraphale wanted to know, “if you get discorporated? Won’t that make you turn up back in Heaven?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel answered. “Maybe. Maybe it would just make me hang around Earth without even so much as a body, though. I do _not_ intend to try it out.”

Aziraphale hummed sympathetically. “Sounds like a _really_ precarious situation for me,” he stated.

Gabriel glared daggers at him.

“My body,” he began, in a slow and dark manner, a manner in which a mother speaks to her child after calling them by _all_ of their forenames, “is running out of the angelic powers it was charged with, too. It’s becoming human, and I can tell you that it is _not_ amusing. I am tired and hungry. My feet start to hurt. My clothes… _smell_. I can’t maintain my appearance, and it’s wearing me out. If you want to call this precarious, I want to call you something else.”

Aziraphale had to forcibly remind himself that being exhilarated in the face of such despair was extremely un-angelic and he should be ashamed of being such a horrible person. Also, Gabriel would probably degrade him as soon as he got back to Heaven. So he swallowed all his remarks and just nodded in a way that he hoped would look compassionate.

“I suggest,” he said, “that I will lend you some money. Then you can buy yourself new clothes and whatever else you need, and pay for a hotel room. It will take me some time anyway to read through my books, so you can use the time to, uh… patch yourself up a little. How does that sound?”

Gabriel’s glare slowly subsided into a tired, defeated look. “I think in this current situation,” he sighed, “this is the best option that I have, yes.”

Aziraphale nodded. He got up from his chair and walked over to his desk in whose drawer he was keeping his money. He wasn’t afraid of someone stealing it. No one would ever even think about trying to break into this bookshop. He’d taken care of that.

He counted it and put some of it aside before he placed the rest of it back in the drawer. Then he rummaged around for a while until he found an envelope to put it in. He carefully closed it so the money wouldn’t fall out. Then he had an idea and rummaged around some more for a map of London.

Gabriel was down on Earth quite often. For any other angel than Aziraphale, ‘often’ meant maybe once a year. And even then, Gabriel probably didn’t know of all the shops and hotels around here that he could visit. The thought of him getting lost in the city had a certain appeal to it, but Aziraphale figured it would be better not to upset the Archangel further.

He found a fairly up-to-date London guide in a heap of hotchpotch on the table by the door and flipped it open at the pages that showed the location of his shop and its surroundings. Then he took a pen and marked the spots that might be useful for Gabriel. He even wrote some notes down on a piece of paper, folded it neatly, and placed it between the pages as a bookmark.

Then, finally, he returned to the back room.

“So I got you –” he started, but then he stopped in his tracks and stared in bewilderment.

Gabriel had fallen asleep in the armchair.

He lay there on the cushions, half spread out and half curled up, like someone had very elegantly dropped him there.

Aziraphale grimaced in frustration.

 _This_ was the _last_ thing he would ever have wanted. Maybe it was a payback for his undeniable delight in the Archangel’s misery.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose with his knuckles. Okay. Okay. He had to stay positive. He would work on this problem, after all, to get rid of the sleeping entity on his upholstery.

He placed the envelope and the London guide on the table and grabbed his teacup. He needed something harder than this, he felt, but he didn’t want to make too much noise by fumbling for a bottle of wine. Gabriel sleeping on his armchair wasn’t ideal, but waking him up would probably make him a whole lot more grumpy.

Then he left the back room and walked over to his telephone behind the counter. It was mounted onto the wall and had quite some flyers stuck behind it. Aziraphale removed them from the crack between the phone and the wall and leafed through them until he had found something to his liking.

Ordering food in had been a great invention, he thought. Oh, he _loved_ to go out for food, no question. He loved nice little restaurants where they knew him. He loved chatting with the waiter and getting special meals thrown together just for himself. He loved to recommend new wine offers, even though sometimes, that annoyed the sommelier. There was nothing like going out for a very good dinner.

But, sometimes, you wanted to stay at home and get food without leaving. When Crowley stopped by and they had a few glasses, and suddenly he suggested: “How about pizza?” When there was an entertaining program on TV and you didn’t want to miss anything but you really felt like Chinese. (Sometimes, Crowley was involved in this scenario too.) Or when your boss had zonked out in your back room and you certainly _didn’t_ want to leave him alone here, but knew he would be hangry as soon as he woke up. Those were the times when flyers came in handy.

Aziraphale called a nearby restaurant that he knew to deliver quite tolerable food. Then he hung up and replaced the flyers. A moment later, he picked up the receiver again. There was another call he definitely needed to make.

After two rings, Crowley picked up.

“Heyo, angel,” he half purred. “What’s up?”

“What’s _up_?” Aziraphale huffed. “I’ll tell you what’s up! Gabriel is asleep in my armchair!”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Then there was a short-taken, “What?”

Aziraphale wanted to shout, but he couldn’t, so he hissed into the phone instead. “Gabriel is asleep in my armchair!” he repeated. “He showed up like half an hour ago, and I left the room for only ten minutes, and when I came back, he was sleeping on my bloody chair!”

Again, he was met with silence from the other end.

“You’re joking,” Crowley claimed. “Very funny, angel. Now what do you _really_ want from me, because this is –”

“I swear to you, it is the undeniable truth!” Aziraphale promised. “He got summoned and has lost all his powers! Now his body caught up on being fully human, and he just… sleeps!”

“… Aziraphale, angels don’t get summoned anymore,” Crowley tried to correct him. “It has been decades since your lot destroyed the last Texts, and we both know that they –”

“Historical Archives in Cologne,” Aziraphale interrupted him. “Apparently, they had a copy left in an undiscovered chamber. When the building collapsed, a clean-up worker found it and took it home instead of handing it in. She tried it out and did a good job with it. Don’t ask me how. But Gabriel is here now, and let me tell you that he is _not_ in a very good mood!”

Silence.

Then: “Why did he come and visit _you_ if he got himself summoned in _Germany_? Doesn’t he have a boyfriend to pester in such a situation?”

“Raphael can’t help him, except for covering for him Up There so no one will make fun of him when they find out. It’s not really respectable to get yourself summoned as an Archangel when Heaven put so much effort into ridding the world of all Summoning Texts.”

“Yes, I recall these days,” Crowley mumbled. “But can’t he –”

“The instructions on how to release him are lost,” Aziraphale answered the question before Crowley could ask it. “He can’t be dismissed in the usual way. That’s why he’s here. He hopes I can find something in one of my books.”

Another moment of silence from Crowley’s side.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded as impishly excited as the one of a kid who asks if they can try to put the guinea pig in the microwave. “Can I come over and draw on his face?”

“No! Crowley!”

“You could put his hand in lukewarm water! I heard that it –”

“Crowley! You are _not_ helping!”

Crowley gave a disappointed sound. “Can you at least take a photo of it?” he asked. “You can use it to blackmail him.”

Aziraphale sighed. “No. Maybe. Later. He’s _asleep_ in my _armchair_ , Crowley! _Gabriel_ is asleep in my _armchair_! What do I do with him now?!”

“Well, if you really don’t want to draw on his face with permanent marker –”

“No!”

“Ah, well. What _have_ you done already?”

“I ordered some food, so he can eat something when he wakes up. And I wanted to lend him money, so he can go and take lodgings in a hotel, so he can shower and have his next nap _there_. Also, he needs to buy new clothes.”

“Ah, yes, he definitely can’t use yours,” Crowley stated.

“No, he’s taller and broader than me.”

“Yes, that too.”

“What are you –”

“Just take advantage of him being crashed out and search your books in peace,” Crowley told him. “And when he wakes up, give him the money and shoo him out the door. Let him buy whatever he needs, and let him sort things out for himself. Call Raphael to help him if he can’t do it himself. Oh, and make sure you do _not_ give him a credit card or something! He will run you into debt by buying one single pair of underwear, that snob!”

“I do not even own a credit card,” Aziraphale grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be so literal, you know what I mean.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I do. Yes. Thank you for your advice, Crowley. It helped me to talk to you.”

“Always my pleasure,” the demon said, a bit self-congratulatory. Aziraphale bet he was still thinking about drawing on Gabriel’s face with a Sharpie. “Call me when all this is over or when you need more advice. Or want to tell me more funny things that Gabriel did. Oh, and don’t forget to send me the photo! But put your phone on silent first, or you might wake him up.”

“I really need to hang up now, Crowley,” Aziraphale said dryly. “Talk to you soon.”

He replaced the receiver. Then he sighed very deeply and, once again, pinched the bridge of his nose.

Reading. He should get to reading. The quicker he got this thing over with, the better.


	2. Chapter 2

Gabriel slept for around four hours. When he suddenly jerked awake, Aziraphale, once more, wished to frame his confused and absolutely horrified face and put it up in his bookshop.

“Good evening,” he instead said overly casual without looking up from the book he was reading on the sofa. “There’s food on the table if you’re hungry. And I called the W London Hotel down Wardour Street. You normally have to check in earlier, but there was a room vacant, so I booked it for you. I put the price down on a list. You can repay me as soon as you’re back to normal.”

Gabriel blinked a few times and sat up.

The four hours had been enough to give him stubble, and his hair now looked definitely messy. Regrettably, he still looked remarkably good that way.

He cleared his throat and smoothed out his wrinkled clothes. Apparently, he _was_ able to crumple them up. Then he ran a hand over his face and finally went over to scrutinise the food that Aziraphale had placed on the table.

It had arrived hours earlier, but Aziraphale’s powers had kept it warm. Reluctantly, Gabriel reached out for it and sniffed it suspiciously.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “It’s not poisoned,” he assured and put his book down. “It’s not the best food London has to offer, but it’s one of the best within close proximity. Just eat it. It will do its bit.”

Gabriel frowned, but opened the pizza box. Then he frowned some more, but grabbed one of the slices.

“Hasn’t this been around for centuries now?” he asked. “Are humans still eating this?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It’s good,” he said. “Just try it. Or, if you don’t like it, I also ordered some pasta. Your body needs food, so get over yourself. Trust me, it will help you.”

Gabriel didn’t look happy, but he took a big bite of the pizza. His face lit up almost immediately.

Aziraphale had to smile a little and got up from the sofa. “Have you really never eaten human food?” he asked as he went to his wine rack.

“No, why would I?” Gabriel replied, chewing. “Unless a human offered it to me out of kindness, I never touched any. Angels don’t need food.”

“Angels don’t need to wear high fashion either, and you still do it,” Aziraphale stated.

“I have to wear _something_.”

“Yes, for the sake of everyone but Raphael, you do.”

Aziraphale returned with two glasses and the wine and poured them both a glass full. It wasn’t his best wine – those were reserved for Crowley and him exclusively – but it was still a good one. He only had good ones.

“I _do_ know wine,” Gabriel stated. He was already eating the second slice of pizza. ‘Devouring’ would be a better word, though. Not even Crowley would have been able to swallow his food faster than this.

“The wine you get in Heaven isn’t as good as the one humans make,” Aziraphale said. “When it comes to edibles, they have far better taste than angels. And they change. Heaven can always stay the same, but humans can’t. They develop. In some cases, this leads to improvement.”

Gabriel studied him and licked some grease off his fingertip. “You admire them,” he said.

“I live among them,” Aziraphale responded.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and cast a telling look around the room. “Yes, I can tell,” he uttered.

Aziraphale scowled. The next slice of pizza Gabriel picked up had an extremely hot piece of pepperoni on it.

“Did you find anything?” Gabriel wanted to know and reached out for his wine glass. He gave an appreciative hum at the taste of it.

“Not yet,” Aziraphale replied. He took his own glass of wine in hand and let the liquid swirl around in it. It smelled rich and fruity. Imagining the taste of it made his mouth water in anticipation. “I went through some of my books, but none of them mention anything useful. I will need a while longer to go through more.”

Gabriel nodded and had a look at the other food box on the table. “Spagetti?” he asked.

“Actually, it’s ‘spaghetti’,” Aziraphale corrected. “Also around for centuries. Try it if you want, it’s very tasty.”

Gabriel didn’t have to be asked twice.

He stuffed his face with so much food that Aziraphale wondered how he managed not to throw up. Before he could eat everything, Aziraphale grabbed the lasagna and allowed himself to have some dinner as well.

“I can help you search,” Gabriel suggested.

Aziraphale noticed sadly that even without his angelic powers, he managed to eat spaghetti without leaving tomato sauce on his snow-white shirt. Aziraphale was almost tempted to make one of the buggers slip on purpose.

“Thank you, but you should get sleep instead,” Aziraphale determined. “A four-hour nap hardly seems enough. Your body is catching up with being human, and humans tend to sleep twice as long. And that is when they _weren’t_ on the road for two days beforehand.”

Gabriel looked displeased. He didn’t like wasting time, unless it was with Raphael – which he, probably, wouldn’t call a waste of time. At least he was doing something then. Or, rather, doing someone…

But sleeping? Being passed out, unconscious, not doing _anything_? That wasn’t something that Gabriel could endorse.

“You’ll fall asleep anyway if you overstrain your body,” Aziraphale appeased him. “You will lose concentration and miss important bits. Sleep, take a shower, have some breakfast, and then buy yourself new clothes. There’s nothing else you can do at the moment, trust me. Let me handle this alone, for the sake of us both.”

Gabriel glared at him, full well knowing the angel was annoyed by him and throwing him out. Aziraphale glared back unapologetically.

“Fine,” Gabriel grumbled and grabbed a napkin to wipe his fingers clean. “But I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Noon,” Aziraphale corrected. “The shops won’t open until 10 and you _need_ to go shopping.”

Gabriel shot him another glare. Aziraphale smiled at him as innocently as he could.

“Fine,” Gabriel snarled. “Tomorrow noon, then. You better have found something by then, Aziraphale.”

“Oh, trust me, I will do everything in my powers to remove you from Earth and send you back to Heaven,” Aziraphale promised sweetly. He took another sip of his wine while Gabriel glowered and then he got up, licking his lips. “I’ll show you the way to the hotel,” he offered. “It’s not far from here.”

Gabriel got up as well and straightened his suit jacket. How could he still look this elegant and fancy despite not having showered in three days, having slept in an armchair, and having eaten enough food to satisfy three people? It was disgusting!

Aziraphale left the back room and grabbed his camel hair coat. The evenings were still pretty cool out there. Also, he just liked wearing his camel hair coat.

He also grabbed the keys for his shop and unlocked the door, holding it open. “Left,” he told Gabriel before he stepped out of the shop himself and went about locking the door behind them once more. He turned back around just in time to witness Gabriel setting his foot on the street, right in front of a driving car.

His cry got lost in the noise of screeching tires and loud, furious honking.

“Watch where you’re bloody going, you idiot!” the driver shouted out of the window before he resumed barrelling down the street and around the corner.

Gabriel stared after the car in shock and incomprehension.

“What was _that_!” Aziraphale gesticulated wildly as he hurried over to his superior. “You can’t just step in front of a car like that, Gabriel! It will run you over! I thought you didn’t want to try getting discorporated!”

“There usually aren’t any cars when I walk in the street!” Gabriel snapped back. “They just...” He too gesticulated angrily. “… aren’t around!”

“Because you _arrange_ them not to be around!” Aziraphale made clear. “You cannot do that anymore now! You’ll end up on someone’s radiator grill, and I do _not_ want to explain that to Above!”

Gabriel snorted in anger and frustration. “It’s not my fault he didn’t look where he was driving,” he grumbled. “He shouldn’t go at that speed in such a narrow street!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and made a pleading gesture at the sky. He couldn’t deal with this any longer. Why was God testing him like this?

Gabriel started galumphing down the street and Aziraphale started to follow him, shaking his head. He had to do something about this. If Gabriel stayed on Earth one day longer, Aziraphale would discorporate himself for the sake of being gone for a while.

Luckily, they reached the hotel without any further incidents. Aziraphale talked to the friendly woman at the reception, but she probably would have let Gabriel into his room without Aziraphale confirming he had booked it for him. She was blushing and smiling at him non-stop, even when she was talking with Aziraphale. Aziraphale wanted to tell her he hadn’t showered in days and also was married. But he bit it all back and instead turned to Gabriel, handing him the keycard.

“When you leave the hotel,” he told him,” you go down Coventry Street until you reach Piccadilly Circus. From there, you turn onto Regent’s Street. That’s where you’ll find some clothing stores tomorrow. If you walk it down, you’ll eventually find yourself in Oxford Street. That, too, is a good place to shop for clothes. Here’s a London guide. My shop is here. And here’s some money. I’ll go through some more of my books overnight and we’ll meet back in my shop at noon. Is that alright?”

Gabriel nodded. He grabbed the things Aziraphale handed him and granted the lady behind the reception a smile.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he said before he walked over to the elevators.

Aziraphale allowed himself a relieved sigh as the doors closed behind him, and made his way back to his bookshop.

There, he emptied the rest of the tiramisu and then stocked a pile of books next to his seat that might contain something helpful concerning Gabriel’s situation. Accompanied by his glass of wine, he started reading through them, soon so engulfed in the words that he forgot how annoyed he was by Gabriel.


	3. Chapter 3

“This cannot be,” Gabriel said, a frown on his features.

“I’m afraid it can,” Aziraphale muttered, rubbing his knuckles over his lips. “At least it’s all I could find, so I guess we have to work with it.”

Gabriel snorted.

He had arrived shortly past midday, in what Aziraphale could only describe as ‘casual chic.’ He was wearing grey jeans and a simple T-shirt, topped by a red and black jacket that looked like a mixture of a hoodie and a parka. No one in the world would have been remotely presentable in this, but Gabriel managed to make it look like _Haute Couture._ His stubble and his unkempt look went quite well with it, much to Aziraphale’s annoyance.

“It _cannot_ be,” the Archangel repeated. “No one would ever do this! Why would anyone ever do this?! Who even came up with this?!”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale answered. He was shifting from one foot to the other, uneasy. “But it’s written right there, so I guess it’s possible.”

Gabriel uncrossed his arms in a huff and threw his hands in the air. “Well, who cares if it is possible!” he exclaimed. “There’s no way I am doing this! I’m not insane!”

“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything that’s more to your liking,” Aziraphale said, becoming slightly offended. “I went through all of my books, but this is all I have. Unless you want to go search somewhere else for however long, you will have to do with what is at hand.”

Gabriel radiated absolute distress. Aziraphale couldn’t really blame him. What he had found certainly was not very pleasant. But still, it was the only thing he had found at all.

He had discovered it in the _Lemegeton_. It wasn’t exactly what he had expected to find, or even expected to exist. He couldn’t remember ever having read it. But then again, maybe he just hadn’t paid attention to it at the time he had acquired the book, which, granted, had been 300 years ago.

It actually didn’t tell you how to dismiss the angel that you summoned. It didn’t tell you how to get released when your summoner didn’t dismiss you, either. In fact, it didn’t even mention summonings directly.

“So let me sum this up,” Gabriel began, still sounding utterly pissed. “We know that a summoning is a kind of agreement between Heaven and Earth.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded. “An agreement that the partner from Earth holds all the conditions for. They are the only ones who are able to end it. We already knew that. That’s why you’re here.”

“Yes,” Gabriel grunted, “that’s why I’m here. Because my partner from Earth is not able to end the agreement and I can’t do it myself. And we were hoping to find another way to null this agreement. But now you’re suggesting – and correct me if I’m wrong...” He raised his hand to spread it over the book that was lying open on the table, pointing at it accusingly with all five of his fingers. “… Now you’re suggesting that we’re _transferring_ this agreement? To a _demon_? Because this writing here tells us how to end an agreement between partners from Heaven and Hell?”

“Uh, well...” Aziraphale shifted once more, feeling his ears getting hot. He knew how crazy this sounded. But he couldn’t help it that he hadn’t found another solution for this!

“Well, yes,” he confirmed, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know what else we could do. I mean, you can try and search for other texts if you don’t want to do this, but who says we will find one? And it could take years, or even decades. If you want to stay on Earth for this long, then –”

“Of course I do not want to stay on Earth for this long!” Gabriel snapped. “Certainly not with my powers removed, especially! But I will _not_ make an agreement with a _demon_! That’s the only thing worse than staying on Earth in a human body!”

“Not all of them are that bad,” Aziraphale claimed. Immediately, his cheeks flushed and he felt himself shrinking towards the floor in panic. Had he said that out loud? Oh Lord, he had, hadn’t he?

From the way Gabriel side-eyed him, Aziraphale could be certain of the answer. He put two of his fingers on his cheek, covering his mouth with the curled up other two. Hopefully, that would hide both his blush and his pressed-together lips from Gabriel at least a little.

His superior said nothing. He just stared, his purple eyes burning themselves inside Aziraphale’s temple. He didn’t have to have angelic powers right now; his stare was bad enough without them.

Finally, very calmly and very slowly, Gabriel said: “That demon that you know. The one who is your adversary, the one Hell sent up here just as we sent you down. You know him quite well, don’t you? Is he one of the demons that aren’t ‘that bad’?”

Aziraphale’s first instinct was to deny everything. He had spent centuries, millennia, making Gabriel believe that he and Crowley were enemies. That he was doing all he could to defy the old serpent’s tempting. To undo his bad-doings, to smite him at sight.

Gabriel couldn’t know about their Arrangement. He couldn’t know they spent times in theatres together, in music halls, in restaurants. That they went to feed the ducks fairly often. That they talked and laughed and went to see movies. That they shared wine in the back room, listened to Queen in Crowley’s car, and that, actually, they had grown quite fond of each other.

More than just fond, if Aziraphale was honest.

There was this unspoken thing between them, a thing both of them very well knew to exist, but neither of them had ever dared to bring up in front of the other, because it being there was one thing, but committing to it was another.

It was in the smiles they gave each other, in the fact Crowley sometimes fell asleep on Aziraphale’s sofa, in Aziraphale pulling a blanket over him and having breakfast ready as soon as he woke up, in the times Crowley brought take-out to the bookshop and they watched something on TV together while eating and talking all the way through it, in the trust Crowley showed in him by taking off his glasses when they were alone.

There was a warm, cosy feeling between them, something light and pure and tender, and it was more than clear to both of them that this had become something deeper than fondness.

But he mustn’t tell that to Gabriel. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if he told that to Gabriel.

He did, however, have to convince Gabriel to give in. This was the only chance they had at hand to make the Archangel go back to Heaven, and Aziraphale would honest to God ask Crowley for asylum in Hell if he had to stand Gabriel being here for much longer.

So Aziraphale very carefully started to walk down the road that was basically a minefield, a minefield on a paper-thin edge – Gabriel not agreeing to this on the one side of the abyss, making him realise the true nature of his relationship with Crowley on the other. It was a very risky walk.

“Crowley is… practical,” he began tentatively. “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just doing his job.”

“Which is being bad.”

“Of course, of course. But, I mean, he could be way worse. He’s reasonable.”

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. “He’s a demon.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Gabriel, you and I both know how things are with employees. There are the eager and proper ones, like you. And then there are the ones who do what they have to and nothing more, like me. Isn’t that what you always accuse me of? Crowley is like that, just from the other side. He does what’s absolutely necessary to appease his superiors, and the rest of the time, he likes to be left alone. He’s not _evil._ He just does what he has to do.”

“ _Has_ to do? He didn’t _have_ to Fall! There’s a reason for that!”

“Yes, I think so too,” Aziraphale said. “God created everything and everyone for a reason. Who knows, maybe Crowley is a rather nice demon for the purpose of being a helping hand when an angel is in need of one?”

Gabriel stared at him in the most baffled way Aziraphale had ever seen. He knew it was an extremely bold take, but, honestly, he was fed up with Gabriel’s hypocrisy. He himself was a prick to people, Aziraphale not even included. Gabriel had been present during the Destruction of Sodom. Gabriel had fought and defeated other angels – not during the Fall of Satan, but angels who had done nothing but their job as the Prince of Persia and the Prince of Greece. (Granted, he had not killed them, they were now working invidious jobs at some end or other of the long chain of Heaven’s bureaucracy. But, seriously, what worse defeat could there be than that?) What he had done over the years had certainly not always been _Good_ , and now he had the nerve to go against Crowley simply because he was a demon? What did _that_ say about anybody? Aziraphale would prefer Crowley over any angel in Heaven at any given time.

“He is the only demon we have,” he stated, crossing his arms. “And he is a good choice for this. But it’s your decision. Do you want me to get him or not?”

Gabriel was bristling with anger. Anger and defeat, because really, what else could he do? As far as they knew, all Summoning Texts got destroyed. That included the instructions on how to undo the summoning. That this one Text had survived was pure coincidence, so the chances of another one being hidden somewhere were low. And even if there was one, who said anyone knew about it? Who said that they would find it?

And yes, maybe there were other options. Other ways to release yourself from a summoning. But how could Gabriel find them? If Aziraphale hadn’t found them in his collection of books, then who else would have them around? And if someone had them, how could Gabriel learn about that?

The only other realistic chance he had was to make Raphael ask around among the other angels to see if any of them had ever been in such a situation and remembered how they had gotten out of it. But with Gabriel being gone without notice, and Raphael asking around about this, people would figure out what was going on. Which would result in _endless_ humiliation. Provided that anyone even had been in this situation before. Also, even _if_ someone remembered, they most certainly didn’t know the exact Words, the exact sigils and their arrangement, the exact ritual. It was a shot in the dark with a low chance of hitting, and the fatal consequence of eternal mockery.

So, all things considered, transferring this agreement to a demon was the best option Gabriel had, with Aziraphale’s reassurance that Crowley wasn’t ‘that bad’ as his only safety.

Given that he didn’t know Crowley like Aziraphale did, it was an extremely high-risk game for him.

“How about this,” Aziraphale suggested, considering Gabriel’s distressed face. “I will bring him here and we’ll figure it out together. Then you can get to know him a little and you two can discuss the, uh… minutiae of this enterprise.”

Gabriel frowned sceptically.

Aziraphale knew Crowley would probably not be keen on having to spend time with Gabriel. But since Gabriel didn’t have his powers, and since Crowley was supposed to make him dependent on him, Aziraphale was pretty sure that, in this particular situation, the demon would approve of it.

Gabriel grumbled something under his breath, but then he sighed and flopped his arms in defeat. “It can’t hurt to get to know him,” he stated. Then he frowned again and glared at Aziraphale. “You _will_ be present and prevent him from doing anything stupid, right?”

“You mean because you are powerless and fear for him to discorporate you?” Aziraphale asked sweetly, enjoying the frown on Gabriel’s face becoming bigger. “Of course. What kind of angel would I be to let my superior get attacked by a demon?”

Gabriel snorted. Aziraphale wished he had started keeping a tally sheet on how often he had roasted Gabriel ever since his misfortune. It would have been a cause of delight for the next couple of decades.

“Alright. You go and have lunch,” Aziraphale said, “and I will get a hold of Crowley. We will meet back in my shop at three.”

Gabriel nodded. “Alright. I’ll be here.”

“Good.” Aziraphale grabbed his book and closed it. He didn’t like to move books out of his bookshop, but he felt like it was better to show this to Crowley in person. “Will you find a restaurant by yourself?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I  _have_ been on Earth before, I can handle myself. Thank you very much.”

“Yes, like yesterday, when you almost got run over by a car,” Aziraphale noted.

Gabriel’s glare was now permanently attached to his features.

Aziraphale carefully wrapped the book in a paper bag and took it with him out of the back room. Gabriel followed, leaving the bookshop right behind Aziraphale.

“See you in two and a half hours then,” Aziraphale said. “Don’t get lost in the city. I hope you have the London guide with you.”

Gabriel only side-eyed him, turning around and walking down the street. Aziraphale noticed he kept to the pavement this time. It made the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth pull up in amusement.

As he set in motion towards Crowley’s flat, he got his mobile phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Crowley had insisted for years now on Aziraphale getting one, claiming it would come in handy in certain situations, and pointing out that, since Aziraphale already owned a computer and a telephone, a combination of both would only make sense.

At one point, Aziraphale had given in, because he had to admit that he _was_ impressed by all the things Crowley could look up instantly on his phone. Like which concert was on tonight and where, or if the Dodo had _really_ gone extinct. So he had gone into an electric shop and had bought a mobile phone for himself.

Crowley had almost lost it when he had seen it.

“What is _this_!” he had exclaimed. “They don’t even manufacture these anymore! Where did you _get_ this?!”

Aziraphale had had to admit that the guy at the store had been very happy to get rid of it, and that it had been fairly cheap. There  _was_ an internet browser on it, but Aziraphale didn’t know how to use it. But it  _was_ quite pleasurable not to have to get up from the sofa to call Crowley (or the food delivery). And if you didn’t want anyone to call you, you could just put it on silent.

It was also very useful to call someone when you were on the move.

“You didn’t send me a photo,” was the first thing Crowley said when he picked up. He actually sounded offended.

“I’m ever so sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale claimed. “Actually, I am on my way to you right now and thought we could have lunch together. How does Thai food sound for an apology?”

“What’s the occasion?” Crowley wanted to know suspiciously. “Are we celebrating that Gabriel is gone or do you want to escape him and comfort eat?”

“I’m not – ...” Aziraphale sighed. “I will tell you when I’m there. So what is with Thai food now? Or would you prefer Japanese?”

“Thai is alright,” Crowley replied. “I’m not currently in, but I’ll drive home now, then. Should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, no problem, I will probably take longer,” Aziraphale said. “I will see you in a bit then.”

“Alright. Oh, and bring those fried vegetable rolls! And the fish cakes!”

Aziraphale smiled. “I will, dear,” he promised. “See you in a bit.”

“Ciao ciao!”

With a smile, Aziraphale stowed his mobile in his trouser pocket. He hoped Crowley would still be this enthusiastic after he had told him about their plan. Well, he would see shortly.

Just to make sure, Aziraphale decided he would also bring lime cheesecake for dessert.


	4. Chapter 4

To be honest, Aziraphale didn’t feel too comfortable in Crowley’s flat.

It was too clean, too modern. It had no personality; or if it had one, it was the one of a distant, self-absorbed person who put more thought into their exterior than their soul. It would fit Gabriel quite well, actually.

What he did like, though, were the plants. Not because they were living creatures, not because they were really beautiful and luxurious, not because they made the place actually look nice despite its sterile style.

No, that was not it.

It was because they had the feeling of Crowley’s attention clinging to them, all the time and effort he put into them, even though it consisted of him threatening them to look pretty. (Aziraphale actually knew what happened to the plants Crowley sorted out because he had secretly caught him once while taking a walk. Crowley hadn’t noticed him, but Aziraphale had seen him planting the flowers into somebody else’s garden.1 The plants, however, didn’t know that, of course.)

They were one of the things Crowley cared for, and if Crowley cared for something, he cared passionately. Aziraphale had to smile every time he felt that.

What Aziraphale _did_ feel comfortable with was lounging on Crowley’s sofa with him, enjoying some rather good (though not exquisite, but what could you expect from a takeaway restaurant?) food, drinking wine, and chatting.

They had just finished their meal and were discussing the concept of fried food. Crowley was playing around with one of his chopsticks, swirling it around or waving it when he had to underline a point. The way he had draped himself over the sofa looked almost sinful.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is,” he finished his statement, “that yes, deep-frying your food adds flavour to it because it’s all fat, but it doesn’t mean the food automatically becomes _good._ There are some things you just _shouldn’t_ fry, and that is my opinion on it. But spring rolls? I’m all for it.”

Aziraphale gave a committal hum, watching the wine he was swirling around in his glass. He’d had to change it to a good one. Crowley thought he knew which wines to buy, but he really didn’t.

Crowley studied him for a moment and cocked his head to the side. “Are you even with me?” he wanted to know. Then he nudged Aziraphale’s leg with his foot. “Angel? You on?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale raised his head, a guilty look on his face. “Yes, I, uh… I’m on. Listen, Crowley, I have to tell you something.”

“Oh boy, here it comes now,” the demon quipped. “Have you upset Gabriel so much that he transferred you to file-keeping?”

“No, I – … While we’re speaking of _transferring_...”

Crowley frowned. He took his leg off the sofa and sat up.

“What’s wrong, angel?” he asked, more serious this time. “What did you really come here for?”

Aziraphale looked at his yellow eyes with the slit pupils, warm and golden like the sunrise, speckled with tiny dots of brown and ochre. He knew Crowley was ashamed of them, but Aziraphale had always found them stunningly beautiful.

He sighed and put his wine down, turning to Crowley. “I found something in one of my books,” he said. “Something to get rid of Gabriel with.”

“Get rid of him like sending him back to Heaven?” Crowley enquired.

“Yes. Breaking his binding.”

Crowley nodded and shrugged slightly. “So what? Is it that terrible a ritual? Do you need to sacrifice someone?”

“No! Gosh, no. It’s… not actually that horrible. It’s just...” Aziraphale sighed again and rubbed his hand across his forehead. “See, it includes you, Crowley.”

The demon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Me?” he asked. “For what? Do you need my blood or something? Should I discorporate him? Oh, please tell me I get to discorporate him!”

Aziraphale spared him his ‘Oh please, my dear, can we remain serious here?’- look.

“Sadly, you do not get to discorporate him,” he told him. “But you actually might enjoy what you’d _have_ to be doing. You know that summonings are like a sort of agreement?”

“Of course I do, everybody does.” Crowley took a sip of his wine. He seemed very eager to hear Aziraphale’s story.

“Right,” the angel continued. “Right. See, the problem is that only the person who summoned can end this agreement. Which is why no one is really fond of those summonings.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I know all these things. Come to the interesting part already.”

Aziraphale sighed once more and got up from the sofa. “What some people _don’t_ know,” he said while walking into the kitchen to wash his hands properly after the meal, “is that you can transfer those agreements. With the right ritual, you can give someone else the power over it. Some people who summoned an entity did it to grant their children or any other successors the benefit of said summoning.”

He dried his hands and walked over to the paper bag he had put down on the counter separating the kitchen from the lounge. He grabbed it and took it back to the sofa with him.

“There are quite some descriptions on how these transfers work in my books, so that is not a problem. The real problem – or, rather, Gabriel sees it as a problem – is this.”

He reached over the backrest and held the open book in front of Crowley’s face. The demon reached for it, but Aziraphale pulled it away.

“Clean hands,” he requested.

Crowley rolled his eyes, but miracled his hands clean. When he reached for the book this time, Aziraphale let him take it. He watched as Crowley read over the pages.

“… Wait, hold on,” the demon said after a moment. “Am I getting this right? This ritual tells you how to break the agreement between an angel and a demon. Are you suggesting that I –”

“That we transfer the agreement of Gabriel’s summoning to you, yes. And that we then use this ritual in the book right there to dismiss him.”

Crowley was quiet for a moment, staring at the book. Then he tentatively asked again: “You want me to have the power of a summoning over Gabriel?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “If you want to put it that way, yes.”

Crowley broke out into laughter.

“My Gosh, angel, this is brilliant!” he exclaimed. “What did Gabriel look like when you told him that? Was he pissed? I bet he was _so_ pissed! Oh, _please_ tell me you at least got a photo of his expression! I want to put it on my wall, right next to the Mona Lisa!”

Aziraphale had to smile at Crowley’s euphoria. “He certainly wasn’t happy,” he promised and walked around the sofa to take a seat again as well. “Which is why I do have to ask a favour of you. I promised Gabriel he would get to know you before the transfer. Just so he can be sure you won’t use your power over him.”

Crowley grimaced and closed the book. “Do I have to?” he asked. “Can’t you just tell him that this is the only way and he better be happy that you found a way at all, even if it sucks?”

“I did,” said Aziraphale and took the book back from Crowley. “But for him, this is a big deal. He’s handing his fate over to someone he thinks of as the mortal enemy. I told him you weren’t that bad, but –”

“You did what?!” Crowley whined. “What did you say that for? Imagine he tells that to someone Below! Imagine _I_ would tell someone Down There you weren’t really ‘all that good’!”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale tried to appease him. “I just wanted to bring Gabriel to accept this, and I thought he would agree sooner if he didn’t fear for you taking advantage of his situation too much.”

Crowley pulled another face. “Still,” he grumbled. “I don’t want anyone from Heaven thinking that I’m nice.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale repeated. “But trust me, Gabriel won’t dare to tell it to anyone. He would have to admit that he accepted your help, and he is far too proud and too scared for that. I mean, just imagine you or I telling anyone what has happened to him. He certainly won’t risk upsetting us too much.”

Crowley grunted, but he said no more. Instead, he got up from the sofa and walked towards the stairs to the upper level of his flat.

“I’ll change,” he informed Aziraphale. “Then we can go. Let me see if I can find something that’ll make me look ‘not that bad’.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and wrapped the book back in its paper bag. Then he went around the lounge to have a look at the flowers while he waited for Crowley. He didn’t have the heart to ruin the demon’s hard work by telling the plants they would one day be free in someone’s garden. But he _did_ make sure they all looked nice. This way, they could at least allow themselves a breather and didn’t have to stress over blooming so much.

 

* * *

 

1 I got this beautiful headcanon from elsinore-and-inverness.tumblr.com. Used with permission. Thank you, dear :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be a chunk of German in this chapter. The translation of this chunk will be provided in the footnote after said chunk.

The atmosphere was cold enough to make a polar bear comfortable. Or maybe some penguins, if you prefer.

Whichever animal you choose, they would feel very at home in Aziraphale’s back room right now.

Gabriel was sitting on the sofa. Crowley was lounging in the armchair. Luckily, there was a coffee table between them; it didn’t help much, but it at least created the illusion of some sort of barrier.

Gabriel’s purple eyes were gleaming with hatred. Crowley’s could not be seen, as they were hidden behind his sunglasses, but his posture looked extremely unimpressed. The casual observer would have believed that Crowley indeed was impassive and arrogant right now, but Aziraphale felt the slight tremble of uncertainty in the demon’s demeanour. He had learned to distinguish it beneath the thick, carefully composed layers of coolness and indifference that Crowley tried to save himself under, but not everyone had this experience. For Gabriel, the facade had to look entirely intact.

“So it’s settled then,” Crowley said, letting his hand dangle in the air leisurely. “I will go to Germany to talk to your summoner and will get your agreement transferred onto me. Then I’ll come back here and we will use the ritual in Aziraphale’s book to release you from the binding. Correct?”

Gabriel gave a little growl before he answered. “It seems like it,” he pressed out through gritted teeth.

“Under the conditions we agreed on.”

The Archangel’s features darkened even further, but he nodded. “Nobody is to hear about this agreement,” he confirmed. “Neither anyone Below nor anyone Above. Except for Raphael, who already knows of my situation anyway.”

Crowley nodded. “Good, good,” he said. “It would be a shame for the both of us if anyone found out that we’re working together. Wouldn’t want to risk that, would we?”

“No,” Gabriel grumbled. “We rather would not.”

Crowley and Aziraphale had made it sound like this was actually Gabriel’s condition, even though Crowley profited from it as well. But the Archangel ran a high risk. If someone learned he made deals with demons to free himself from a situation that was embarrassing alone in its own right, he would most certainly get in trouble. Crowley, on the other hand, could claim he had done it to get power over Gabriel, and then had been tricked into releasing him again or whatever. He was good with words, and he had Aziraphale on his side. It was still risky for him as well, but not as risky as it was for Gabriel.

This way, Crowley had been able to place an own condition as well: the condition that Gabriel would stop bothering Aziraphale, so that in return, Aziraphale would stop bothering Crowley.

“Trust your worker here,” Crowley had said. “After all, he got you a demon nice enough to release you. What better of a job do you want him to do?”

Gabriel had begrudgingly promised not to pester Aziraphale as continuously anymore, as long as he still did his job and sent in reports every now and then. Crowley had shrugged and said that he didn’t care about reports, he just wanted Aziraphale to leave him alone. Aziraphale had managed to swallow his smile, but he would thank Crowley for his charade later.

“Fine, then.” Crowley sat up. “Tomorrow, I will fly over to Cologne and –”

“We,” Aziraphale interrupted him. “I’ll be coming with you. Don’t forget that I have the rituals that will allow the transfer.”

Crowley very convincingly moved his head back and let out a groan. “ _Fine_ ,” he grunted. “ _We_ ’ll fly over to Cologne tomorrow. Do we even know where this summoner lives? Maybe you should give them a call, so they won’t be on vacation or something when we arrive.”

“Ah. Yes. That’s actually a good idea,” Aziraphale admitted. “Gabriel do you…?”

Gabriel raised his brows. “What? Have her phone number? Of course not. I do have her address, though.”

“That’ll do,” Crowley said. “Just give me her name as well and I’ll find out her number.”

Gabriel frowned. He probably thought this sounded like Crowley violating someone’s privacy or doing something illegal. But it was for Gabriel’s release, so he just sighed lowly and gave Crowley the name and address of his summoner.

Crowley typed them down into his phone and hummed lowly while he scrolled and swiped around for a moment.

“Ah, here we have her. Yes, alright. Angel, give me something to write on, I’ll give you her number. You can call her while I book our flight. Then you can tell her what time we’ll arrive at her place as well.”

Aziraphale nodded and got up from the second armchair. He fetched a notepad and a pencil and let Crowley dictate the summoner’s phone number. Then he walked over to his phone behind the counter and began to dial.

After the third ring, a woman answered.

“Ja, hallo?” she asked.

“Hallo, guten Tag, mein Name ist Aziraphale,” Aziraphale answered in perfect German. “Es tut mir leid, wenn ich Sie störe, junge Dame. Ist es richtig, dass Sie vor einigen Tagen mithilfe eines alten Buches aus Versehen einen Engel beschworen haben?”

The lady on the other end was quiet. Then, voice trembling slightly, she asked: “Wer sind Sie?”

“Oh, bitte entschuldigen Sie vielmals, ich bin ebenfalls ein Engel,” Aziraphale appeased her. “Nachdem Sie meinen Kollegen nicht von seiner Beschwörung erlösen konnten, ist er zu mir gekommen, um mich um Hilfe zu bitten. Ich habe einen Weg gefunden, die ganze Sache zu beenden. Allerdings müsste ich Sie dafür kurz besuchen kommen. Keine Sorge, es wird nichts Schlimmes passieren. Sie müssen mir lediglich dabei helfen, ein weiteres Ritual auszuführen. Ich verspreche Ihnen, dass Sie danach in demselben Zustand sein werden wie zuvor, sowohl geistig als auch körperlich. Und zwei dankbare Engel bekommen Sie noch dazu. Ginge das wohl in Ordnung?”

Again, it took the woman a moment to reply.

“Was für ein Ritual?” she wanted to know.

“Es ist eigentlich sehr simpel,” Aziraphale explained. “Wir werden die Beschwörung einfach von Ihnen auf jemand anderen übertragen. Einen, äh… weiteren Engel. Dieser kann Gabriel dann ohne Schwierigkeiten von dem Bann erlösen und uns allen wäre geholfen.”

“I heard that and I don’t approve!” Crowley called from the back room.

Aziraphale ignored him and just kept on talking. “Wir könnten morgen um – ...”

“At one o’clock, German time!” Crowley called again, this time helpfully.

“… Um ein Uhr bei Ihnen sein. Wäre das wohl möglich?”

Aziraphale could _hear_ the poor girl hesitating. Then, finally, she gave a defeated sigh.

“Na schön, was soll’s,” she said, sounding like she had forsaken her own sanity for good now. “Kommen Sie ruhig vorbei, zwei Engel mehr oder weniger machen jetzt auch nichts mehr aus.”

“Tja. Ja. Nein. Vielen Dank, Fräulein Kleinert. Dann sehen wir uns also morgen.”

“Sieht so aus. Also bis morgen.”

“Bis morgen. Auf Wiederhör’n.”1

Aziraphale hung up.

“So when will the flight leave?” he asked as he returned to the back room.

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Crowley replied. “And we will take the flight back at twenty past four, German time. Then we should be back at your shop around six, London time. Can we arrange for that, Gabriel? Or do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?”

Gabriel shot him a glare. “I happen not to,” he informed Crowley.

“Great. Then it’s all settled.” Crowley slapped the armrests of his chair and got up. “I’ll go make something useful of the rest of my day then. Doing some mischief while Aziraphale is busy babysitting. You better be ready tomorrow, angel, I won’t wait for you, understood?”

He grabbed a biscuit off the plate in the middle of the table and bit it in half as he waltzed over to the door, humming a melody. Even Aziraphale, who knew this was only an act, felt how annoying his behaviour was.

They heard the bell over the shop door jingle, then the door of the Bentley being shut, then the engine roar and the car speed away.

Gabriel snorted and rubbed his temple. “He is despicable,” he stated. “How do you put up with him all the time?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “He’s doing his job, I’m doing mine,” he replied. “And, like you said, it’s part of his job to be bad.”

Gabriel snorted once more.

“But at least,” Aziraphale continued, “for a demon, he is rather reasonable. It could definitely be worse than that.”

Gabriel only shook his head. “Let’s just hope he really is as reasonable as you say. This whole thing is not over yet. Which reminds me, we should inform Raphael about the plan. In case anything goes wrong and we need him.”

Aziraphale froze.

“Uh,” he stammered. “What would we need Raphael for? Possibly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gabriel said, though his tone made it clear that he, in fact, _did_ know all too well. “Maybe he’ll have to sweep down to smite a demon who has unlimited control and power over me?”

Aziraphale swallowed. He knew Crowley would _not_ like having another angel around. Right now, the odds were in his favour, because Aziraphale – even though officially on Gabriel’s side – was actually completely in Crowley’s corner. Raphael, however, was loyal to Gabriel, utterly and completely. And even though he was a rather pleasant fellow, having him around would add a lot of pressure.

Aziraphale’s heart ached as he envisioned Crowley’s panicked features.

“Uh, but I’m here,” he tried to argue with Gabriel. “I can take care of Crowley. Besides, I thought you said Raphael had to cover for you, so should we really call him down here and risk your exposure?”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes a little. “Don’t you think we can’t be safe enough in this situation?” he asked. “Crowley is still a demon, after all. Who knows what he is planning.”

“Oh, well, certainly not me,” Aziraphale hurried to assure. “I just thought we should keep the risk low. You know, Michael can be _so_ perceptive sometimes.”

“I think to keep the risk at its lowest, we should get as many angels as possible,” Gabriel determined. His voice sounded subtly threatening, as if any further talk-back from Aziraphale would result in trouble.

Aziraphale certainly _wanted_ to argue more, but he feared Gabriel would become suspicious. So, despite feeling extremely sorry for his demon friend, he nodded hurriedly and added, “Of course, of course. I will give Raphael a call right now.”

Gabriel nodded. Aziraphale saw a hint of happiness glinting in his purple eyes and felt his own heart softening a bit. Gabriel was horrible, but at least he could feel love. That gave him the tiniest bit of humanity.

Aziraphale went over to his phone once again, shaking out his fingers.

“What story has Raphael told Up There?” he asked as he picked up the receiver. “Is it better to ask to talk to him right away or should I ask for you first? I don’t want my request to collide with whatever Raphael has concocted.”

“I don’t know what exactly Raphael has come up with,” Gabriel replied from the back room. “Just ask for one of the Archangels, Raphael will pick up the call anyway.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale grumbled. “Make it absolutely vague, why don’t you.”

He dialled and held the receiver to his ear. There was no ringing. Still, after a moment, somebody on the other end picked up.

“Hello,” they said, sounding so bored and non-committal that Aziraphale hoped for their sake that they would never pick up when Gabriel was calling.

“Yes, hello. This is Aziraphale. I need to talk to an Archangel, please.”

“An Archangel?” the other angel asked, sceptical. “What did you say your name was?”

“Aziraphale,” Aziraphale repeated, trying to suppress his annoyance. Sometimes, he understood why Gabriel was so done with him all the time. “And _your_ name was…?”

“Aziraphale… Ah, right. Well, Gabriel is not in right now.”

“I’ll talk to Raphael, then.”

“Raphael is not responsible for –”

“Listen, my good boy,” Aziraphale said very calmly. “This issue is really important and Raphael _will_ want to know about it. If you don’t put me through, my message will undoubtedly be late, and you know how those Archangels can be when they have to deal with inconveniences. No telling in what they would do to the lower angels involved in this. And I am not only talking about me.”

Once again, Aziraphale had caused his dialogue partner to fall silent for a moment.

Then the poor soul said, “Fine. Hold the line for a moment,” and there was a soft twang.

_They should install hold music,_ Aziraphale thought. And then he thought of the music angels considered good, or rather, the musicians Heaven had at their disposal, and he scratched that idea. 

Finally, there was a low clicking sound and the familiar voice of Raphael answered the phone. Where Gabriel always sounded arrogant, snobby, and subliminally annoyed, Raphael always sounded cheerful, amused, and waggish. How the two of them got along with each other was beyond the level of Aziraphale’s comprehension.

“Aziraphale!” he warbled. “So good to hear from you! We don’t talk often enough these days! How is it going?”

“Your boyfriend has crashed on my sofa and is driving me insane,” Aziraphale replied flatly.

As expected, Raphael burst into laughter.

“Ah, so he made it to you,” he concluded. “Has he laid out his problem? Were you able to help him out?”

“Kind of.” Aziraphale sighed. “I will hand you over to him in a minute, so he can explain, but before I do...”

“You need to cry on my shoulder about how awful he is for a bit?” Aziraphale could _hear_ Raphael smirk. “Do you need some tips on how to handle him?”

“… Raphael, he almost got run over by a _car_ yesterday!” Aziraphale hissed. “If everything works out, we will release him tomorrow evening, but I’m not sure he’ll even survive for that long!”

Raphael was cackling. “My goodness!” he hooted. “I need the full-detailed story on this!”

“Later,” Aziraphale promised. “Look, I’ll go over to Germany tomorrow and we need you Down Here in the evening anyway. Can’t you come over earlier and keep an eye on him? I don’t want to find him swimming face-down in the Thames when I return. Also, his mood is really foul by now, and I don’t want anything to go wrong because Gabriel got cranky.”

“You want me to come down to Earth tomorrow?”

“Yes, please. I’ll leave at eight and should be back at six. Then we will hopefully be able to do the ritual and release Gabriel, so you can take him back Up with you afterwards. Just… Please make sure he’s still alive by then, and in a good enough mood to not make the circumstances of the ritual any more complicated than they already are.”

“That sounds intricate,” Raphael said. He sounded more serious now. After all, he still was an Archangel, and you didn’t get such a high rank by being funny all the time. “What are you planning?”

“Let Gabriel tell you. I’m sure he wants to talk to you anyway. GABRIEL?”

Gabriel appeared in the door frame.  Aziraphale held out the receiver  to him.

“Raphael. I thought maybe you’d want to talk to him yourself.”

Gabriel nodded dryly, but Aziraphale saw the excitement in his eyes. He  hurried to take the receiver from Aziraphale’ s hand.

“Hey,” he said. “Yes. How are you?”

Aziraphale moved to the back room, but he took a second to watch Gabriel talk. The way he held the receiver with both hands. The way he nestled it neatly against his ear. The soft expression on his features. The slight smile.

Aziraphale knew Gabriel as  an anal, nit-picky, pettifogging pain in the ass, who only showed humour in the form of arrogant sarcasm. He had never heard the Archangel’s voice sound so warm. They didn’t get along alright, and Aziraphale still found Gabriel annoying, but seeing how truly he seemed to love  brought a tiny smile to Aziraphale’s lips.

He left Gabriel to explain their plan to his lover and prepared another  pot of tea. Then he sat down in his armchair and began to read. 

He heard Gabriel’s voice outside but he didn’t understand what he said.  Once or twice, he even heard him laugh.  When he came to join Aziraphale in the back room, he looked less tense and a bit more like himself again.

“Raphael will come by tomorrow morning,” he informed Aziraphale. “And will stay until the ritual has been completed. Or, in other words, until I’ve been released.”

Aziraphale nodded, acting as if he didn’t know that already. “Good,” he said. “Then you should be safe and sound for the entirety of the day.”

Gabriel nodded too.

Then he cocked his head to the side and studied the book Aziraphale was holding.

“What are you reading?” he wanted to know.

“ _Harry Potter_ ,” answered Aziraphale. “It’s a book series about a young boy who learns that he actually is a wizard and –”

Gabriel gave him the most telling look, one eyebrow raised. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“You don’t even know it, so would you please stop judging? You thought pizza was awful too, and then you devoured it in hardly ten minutes.”

Gabriel pulled his usual face again and took place on the sofa. “Fine,” he said. “Let me read it, then. I will give it a chance and see if it is any good.” It sounded like a challenge.

_Oh, you have no idea,_ Aziraphale thought and put his own book down  to get up.  _By tomorrow, you will be sorting all of your coworkers into Hogwarts Houses, and I will not be helping you._

He got the _Philosopher’s Stone_ out of the _Harry Potter_ -shelf  and held it  out to Gabriel. It was the first edition  by Bloomsbury, of course,  published in 1997. Nowadays, these books sold for extremely high five-digit prices.

“Please be careful with this,” Aziraphale warned. “It is very, very valuable. Clean hands, no food or drinks anywhere near it, and _please_ , no dog ears! Use a bookmark.”

Gabriel gave him a glare, but he held his hands out and let Aziraphale miracle them clean with a  gesture. Then he accepted the book from him  with an overly disinterested face and studied the cover.

“It’s very colourful,” he noted. “It’s already telling the story.”

“Kind of,” agreed Aziraphale. “That’s the point. When was the last time you held a book?”

Gabriel just shrugged and opened the  volume. He was careful with it, but lacked the soft, loving touch of appreciation Aziraphale’s or even Crowley’s hands had when dealing with books.  At least he was trying. Aziraphale had to give him that.

He  sat down in his armchair again and picked up the  _Prisoner of Azkaban_ , but he watched Gabriel leaf through the first pages and reach the first chapter  out of the corner of his eye.  He wondered how long it would take the bored, arrogant expression on Gabriel’s face to vanish. Sadly, he couldn’t stare too obviously, as that would falsify the results.

As always when Aziraphale was reading, he eventually forgot everything else around him anyway, including Gabriel and including the time. He distantly realised the other angel was there, turning the pages, drinking his tea, but he forgot to check his face, and he completely forgot that Gabriel must be getting hungry or tired at one point.

It wasn’t until the Archangel put down his book and got up that Aziraphale got startled out of his story and raised his head, slightly confused.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’ve been here for five hours and my body is human, where do you think I’m going?”

Aziraphale blinked. Then he checked the clock on the side table and blinked again.

“Oh! It’s eight o’clock already?! You must be starving!”

“Yes, that too,” Gabriel confirmed. “Is your bathroom upstairs?”

“… Oh. Yes. To the right.”

“Thank you.”

Gabriel vanished. Aziraphale suppressed the urge to call after him and ask him to sit down for it.

Instead, he checked on the _Philosopher’s Stone_ and was satisfied to see that Gabriel had treated it well over the past few hours.

When Gabriel came back, Aziraphale already waited in front of the shop door.

“Let’s go and grab dinner, then,” he said. “Then I’ll escort you to the hotel. You need to get some sleep before Raphael stops by tomorrow.”

“Yes, I guess I do,” Gabriel replied with a sigh. It was obvious he still didn’t like his human condition. But if everything went well, he only had to endure it one day longer.

They went to a nice restaurant together (not the Ritz. Aziraphale would never invite anyone but Crowley to the Ritz, especially not Gabriel) and Aziraphale ordered them something nice. He had to admit that, by now, it was kind of okay to hang out with Gabriel. He would still have preferred not to, but you could actually talk with him if he wasn’t after your reports, and was dependent on your help and goodwill.

It also helped to get him pickled on wine.

By the time they were headed to Gabriel’s hotel, the Archangel’s human physique was delightfully tipsy.

“I don’t understand this,” he babbled as they walked along the street. “Why’s there a three-headed dog in this castle? I mean, there are _children_ around! It’s a _school_!”

“You will see,” Aziraphale promised him, amused. 

“I better! This is unjust-… unaccountable!”

“You will have to accept that most of the adults in these books are pretty unaccountable all of the time,” Aziraphale warned him.

“I can’t stand this,” Gabriel vented. “If you’re responsible for someone, you have to take care of them! Even if it’s inconvenient! Even if it’s troublesome! That’s your job! You can’t just pillar!”

That was not the end of his sentence. That was an exclamation in warning for himself, because he had almost collided with one.

He managed to  avoid it rather gracefully, despite (or maybe because  of) being a little wobbly. Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his arm to help him get back on track after his manoeuvre. 

“You’re too drunk right now to take care of anyone,” he told him softly. “Get some sleep, and then tomorrow, Raphael will be here, and we will release you. Then you can go back to taking care of us, alright?”

“I would never let a three-headed dog into Heaven,” Gabriel stated as they walked through the door of the hotel. 

Aziraphale smiled slightly and patted his arm. “Do you remember your room number?”

Gabriel shot him a look as if Aziraphale was completely out of his mind. “Of course!” he claimed. “And even if not, it is written on my magic card!”

“Keycard,” Aziraphale corrected, chortling.

“I just read about wizards, it’s a magic card,” Gabriel determined and then he actually grinned at Aziraphale. Once again, Aziraphale wished to take a photo of this rare expression.

“Tomorrow at eight!” he called after Gabriel, who sauntered over to the elevator. “Don’t be late!”

“Got it!” Gabriel called back. Then he vanished into the elevator and behind the closing doors.

Aziraphale stood there for a while longer, looking at the doors, and shook his head.  _If you’re responsible for someone, you have to take care of them._ Gabriel did a rough job at taking care of people. But maybe he really thought it was for their best. 

Sighing, Aziraphale turned around and left the hotel. He had to pack his things for tomorrow. He wouldn’t need much, but he liked to be prepared.

He listened to Bach as he packed to get into the German mood, and then he had a bath and changed his clothes. Then, finally, he went down to the back room and made himself the cup of cocoa he had yearned for ever since Gabriel had entered his bookshop.

It was the best cocoa he’d had in a while.

* * *

 

 

1Translation:

“Yes, hello?” she asked.

“Hello, good day, my name is Aziraphale,” Aziraphale answered in perfect German. “I am very sorry if I am bothering you, young lady. Is it true that you, by mistake, have summoned an angel with the help of an old book a few days ago?”

The lady on the other end was quiet. Then, voice trembling slightly, she asked: “Who are you?”

“Oh, I apologise profusely, I am also an angel,” Aziraphale appeased her. “After you couldn’t release my colleague from his summoning, he came to me to ask me for help. I’ve found a way to end this entire thing. But I would have to pay you a short visit for that. Not to worry, nothing bad will happen. You just have to help me in executing another ritual. I promise you that you will be in the same condition afterwards that you were in before; both mentally and physically. And you will get two thankful angels on top of it, too. Would that be alright?”

Again, it took the woman a moment to reply.

“What kind of ritual?” she wanted to know.

“It is actually quite simple,” Aziraphale explained. “We will just transfer the summoning from you onto somebody else. A, uh… another angel. He can then release Gabriel from his binding without any trouble and we’d all be helped.”

“I heard that and I don’t approve!” Crowley called from the back room.

Aziraphale ignored him and just kept on talking. “We could be with you tomorrow at – ...”

“At one o’clock, German time!” Crowley called again, this time helpfully.

“… At one o’clock. Would that be possible?”

Aziraphale could _hear_ the poor girl hesitating. Then, finally, she gave a defeated sigh.

“Alright, what the heck,” she said, sounding like she had forsaken her own sanity for good now. “Just come over. Two angels more or less don’t make any difference anymore now, anyway.”

“Well. Yes. No. Thank you very much, Miss Kleinert. Then we will see each other tomorrow.”

“Looks like it. Till tomorrow, then.”

“Till tomorrow. Goodbye.”


	6. Chapter 6

Gabriel arrived first the next morning.

He entered the shop at twenty to eight, and he looked pretty hungover. For Gabriel, ‘pretty hungover’ meant that he looked like other people when they just had gotten ready to leave for the opera. He was wearing his suit again, so Aziraphale assumed the hotel had gotten it cleaned for him, but his jacket was unbuttoned and instead of his white shirt, he wore the dark T-shirt he had bought yesterday underneath. He must have attempted to shave, for his beard was gone and his face was covered in little cuts. The grumpy, tired expression on his features very nicely completed the look.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale greeted him without even trying to hide his smile. “Had a bit of a night yesterday, did we?”

“I forgot human bodies are affected by alcohol,” Gabriel grumbled and flopped down on the sofa. “The boy at the hotel recommended to drink a lot, but the coffee I had didn’t really help.”

“Because coffee dehydrates you, and that actually makes it worse,” Aziraphale told him. “Plain water is better.”

Gabriel only glared at him.

Before Aziraphale could attempt to help him, the bell over the shop door jingled, and he hurried over to the saleroom to see who had entered. Of course, it was Raphael.

Raphael, like Gabriel, always looked like he had been composed out of somebody’s dreams. He was not _quite_ as blindingly impressive as Gabriel was, but you could have filled an entire magazine with photos of him and the whole print would have been sold out within the first few hours after its release.

He wore a soft scruff, and a smile on his thin lips.

“Aziraphale! Good morning!” he cheered. “You look really done!”

“Well, thank you,” Aziraphale replied. “ _You_ look very well, though. I somehow suspect our conditions are related to Gabriel’s whereabouts.”

Raphael laughed. He had a happy, honest laugh, and it made you like him, even though his cheerfulness and teasing could become annoying in their own right.

“Where is the grumblebee?” he wanted to know, grinning.

“On the sofa. He’s hungover. Have fun.”

“Wow, Gabriel. Five days on Earth and he’s already a mess.”

Raphael shook his head, smirking, and strolled over to the back room. Gabriel was already on his feet as he entered.

“Well hello, who are _you_?” Raphael purred. “Had I known Aziraphale had people like you hidden in his back room, I would have visited him far sooner.”

Gabriel smiled the smile of someone who is mildly annoyed, but more than that happy to see the person who annoys them.

“I missed you,” he said and softly pulled Raphael into his arms.

The other Archangel smiled as well and placed his hands on Gabriel’s cheeks. Carefully, he stroked over the cuts, letting them heal.

“Aw, you had a beard?” he asked. “I want to see you with a beard again, it has been ages.”

“Maybe I’ll do you that favour when I’m back Up There,” Gabriel said. “Though I’m not sure yet if I’ll really return there after what you told them where I was. Maternity leave?1 Really, Raphael?”

Raphael laughed and ran his thumbs over Gabriel’s cheeks. “Sorry,” he giggled. “I couldn’t resist.”

Then he moved his fingers up to Gabriel’s temples, who groaned lowly in fake annoyance. Telling from the relief and relaxation that came over Gabriel’s features, Raphael had also healed his hangover.

When they kissed, Aziraphale looked away and gave them a few moments before he cleared his throat politely.

“Uh, I am ever so sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I’ll have to ask you to spend the day outside of this bookshop. I don’t have enough food in here to keep Gabriel happy until six o’clock, and I don’t want to leave my keys here and everything, so I would like to lock the shop before I go and all, and...”

“And you don’t want us to misuse your sofa,” Raphael assumed. “That’s okay. We’ll find other places to do around the city. In both meanings of the –”

“Yes, thank you very much,” Aziraphale interrupted him. “I gave Gabriel a map, so you shouldn’t get lost. We’ll meet back here at six tonight. And please make sure he has eaten, he will get grumpy otherwise.”

“I am right here and I can hear you,” Gabriel stated.

“Good. Eat something,” Aziraphale said. Then he made a prompting gesture towards the saleroom.

Raphael whispered something to Gabriel as they went, and Gabriel chuckled. Aziraphale followed them, swallowing his annoyance, and grabbed everything he needed off the counter.

Crowley had, years ago, gotten them both passports, because he’d thought it would make travelling easier these days. Despite neither of them being registered, the passports always worked and no one ever asked any questions. Aziraphale had slipped it into his wallet, along with some Euros he still had lying around somewhere.

It was always good to have them when you lived in Europe. Even when you lived in that one corner of Europe that didn’t actually use them.

Of course, he also took the book with the Transfer Ritual, as well as the name, address, and phone number of the poor woman they had to visit today. They should stop to buy her some sweets or flowers on the way, poor thing. This whole scenario was probably giving her sleepless nights.

Just as Aziraphale grabbed the little travelling bag he had equipped with all the items necessary for the ritual, a car skidded to a halt outside and there was some impatient honking. Sighing, Aziraphale grabbed the keys of his shop and stepped outside, locking the doors.

“You can stop acting like this now, Gabriel has already left,” he told Crowley as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Crowley gave an understanding hum. Then he stared at the bag Aziraphale had placed in his lap.

“Angel,” he said. “What is this?”

“My travelling bag,” Aziraphale replied, a bit confused. “I had to put the book somewhere, and all the items for the ritual that we –”

“Not even the most hardcore hipster,” Crowley interrupted him, “would think this bag deserves to live on, Aziraphale. Please, release it from this world, it has suffered its own existence long enough.”

Aziraphale side-eyed him, but didn’t bother to answer. Some people had their own taste, other people just went with whatever time told them to like.

Crowley shook his head and let the Bentley dart back onto the street. Aziraphale, with practised ease, grabbed for the assist handle.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he said while Crowley swung his car around the corner into Wardour Street.

“Yeah? What? Has Gabriel died of food poisoning?”

“No. Though he _was_ drunk yesterday night.”

“And let me guess, you did not record it on video.” Crowley sighed. “Okay, what is it really?”

“Gabriel insisted on having Raphael present at the ritual tonight.”

Crowley frowned, displeased. “I see he trusts me,” he grumbled. “So now I have to deal with _two_ Archangels? Great. Who says they won’t smite me the minute Gabriel is released?”

“They won’t. They rely on you to keep your mouth shut about all of this.”

“As if anyone would believe me when Gabriel and Raphael say something different. And you can’t back me up, you know that. You have to be on their side.”

Aziraphale had to admit that.

“Why would they try and kill you, though?” he asked. “They have no reason to, unless you anger them. And you don’t plan on doing that, do you?”

“Of course I don’t, I’m not insane!” Crowley erupted. “But I will still be trapped in a room with two Archangels, and another angel who can’t act against them officially!”

“My dear, nothing will happen to you,” Aziraphale promised calmly and placed his hand on Crowley’s leg to soothe him. “I will not let Gabriel or Raphael attack you. If necessary, I will refer to the conditions we negotiated and will insist that angels, above everyone else, should be morally obligated to stick to their word. And I will tell them that they should be happy you’re Hell’s field agent on Earth and not someone who is far more vicious than you are, so they should not risk Hell becoming unsatisfied with you. Trust me, nothing will happen to you.”

Crowley grunted.

“I’m with you,” Aziraphale said and increased the pressure of his touch. “And I won’t let anyone harm you.”

He felt Crowley relax a little, even though he still seemed distressed. Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. If he’d had to deal with two demons, he would not have felt very good with it either, and Crowley always panicked a lot more than him.

Aziraphale stroked his leg gently and let go of the oh shit handle (an overly accurate name, he had discovered) with his other hand in favour of activating the car radio with it.

_Anywhere you go, I'll be right behind you,_ _r_ _ight until the ends of the Earth_ , crooned Freddie Mercury.

“Maybe we should stop on our way to the airport and get the poor woman some chocolates,” Aziraphale suggested to lighten up the mood.

“British chocolates? For a woman in Germany? She will stone us with them,” Crowley scoffed.

“Oh. Yes. Then let’s stop on the way to her from the airport. I really think we should bring her something, the poor thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get her something alright. An amulet that protects her from vengeful Archangels would maybe be more helpful, though.”

Aziraphale side-eyed him again, but otherwise let it slide. Crowley probably wished for an amulet like that himself for later.

They drove at a breakneck pace, as usual for Crowley, headed for London Heathrow. Normal people surely would have left earlier than eight in the morning when their flight went at twenty to ten. Those people, though, would have needed longer than Crowley and Aziraphale to drive there, and longer than Crowley and Aziraphale to get through all the control stations and onto the plane.

They made themselves comfortable in their First Class seats in time for the flight to go off duly.

“I haven’t been on one of these in a while,” Aziraphale said as he looked out the window.

Crowley, who was leafing through the board menu, hummed. “They advance fast with technical stuff,” he stated.

“They do,” Aziraphale agreed. “Do they still serve tomato juice on flights?”

“As far as I know, yes. Why?”

“I like drinking tomato juice on flights. It’s like popcorn in the movie theatre, it just belongs to the experience.”

“You’re weird, angel.”

“And you still hang out with me.”

There was tomato juice. After roughly 80 minutes, they landed in Cologne, got off the plane, and snaked their way through the control stations. Crowley had rented them a car for the day. It was no vintage Bentley, but it would do.

“I can’t believe they’re still not done with the cathedral,” he said as they drove out of the parking deck. “They started this what? 700 years ago?”

“Something like that, yes,” Aziraphale replied. “Will you remember to drive on the other side, please, dear?”

“Oh, right,” Crowley acknowledged and yanked the car over to the other lane.

Aziraphale grabbed the assist handle instinctively. “Can we really make it to her place in time?” he wanted to know. “We only have seventeen minutes left.”

“What does the navigation system say how long we need?”

“Uhm, twenty-four minutes.”

“Then we should be there in ten.”

Aziraphale grabbed the handle tighter.

* * *

 

 

1 This joke belongs to scorpling/bluethenstaub, who helped when I got uncreative, thank you very much :P 


	7. Chapter 7 (German version)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will play in Germany and will feature a German character.  
> Therefore, most of the conversation held in this chapter is actually held in German.  
> Since adding 1389248 footnotes to this chapter would kinda hinder the flow, I will post this chapter twice.  
> One chapter will feature the dialogue in German, like it would really be held.  
> The other version of the chapter will be completely in English and will function as a translation.  
> This chapter right here is the German version.  
> Thanks to Bluethenstaub for telling me where the freakin commas go...

The woman that opened the door for them was somewhere in her twenties, and she was short, chubby, blonde, and anxious.

Aziraphale couldn’t blame her. He understood her love for, and interest in, old books; she must have been so excited to find this precious in the hidden chamber. It had been wrong to take it home with her, but even for that, Aziraphale couldn’t blame her. He, probably, would have had a look at it himself first, too, before he would have handed it in. (He _would_ have handed it in. Of _course_ , he would have.)

To try out the ritual had, presumably, been an act of sheer passion and curiosity. Just like those Ouija boards people used. You knew it would end badly for you if it _really_ worked, so you somehow hoped that it wouldn’t, but you still wanted to try it, simply for the kick of it.

Having an actual angel, real and in the flesh, appear on you was certainly _not_ what this poor woman had expected. She probably hadn’t even really believed in angels, not in a way that makes you okay with them just popping up right there in your living room. If something like this happened to you, all you’d want was to make it unhappen. But she couldn’t.

Now, an Archangel, one of the few angels everyone actually _knows_ about, was stuck here on Earth because of her, and it certainly didn’t help you feel good and safe if an _Archangel_ had a reason to be super angry at you. Especially not if you had any idea what angels really were like. They could get more enraged and drastic than you would expect from them, Aziraphale knew that.

And the only way to release said Archangel – in the hopes he would then be appeased and not come back to torment you, or would send you straight to the deepest pits of Hell – was to let two _other_ angels into your house, and believe them when they said they had a solution, and allow them to do another ritual, even though the last ritual you had witnessed had _gotten_ you into this entire mess. Not to mention you had to believe those two men standing in front of your door actually _were_ angels, and not some random creeps. Though, creeps, at least, were actual people, no supernatural entities with unfathomable powers.

So, yes, it was no wonder that poor girl looked absolutely stressed.

Aziraphale tried to make it better by smiling at her and holding out the chocolates he had bought at the airport. He had read somewhere that chocolates made you feel better. This woman definitely needed that.

“Hallo, Fräulein Kleinert,” he said softly. “Vielen lieben Dank, dass Sie uns empfangen. Dürfen wir bitte reinkommen?“

She studied them suspiciously. Aziraphale tried to smile even friendlier.

“Seid ihr wirklich Engel?” she whispered.

“Ah, ja,” Aziraphale said. He turned his hand and let a blue light appear on it for a second. “Es tut mir unsäglich leid, dass wir Sie behelligen müssen, gute Dame. Aber ich fürchte, dies ist der einzige Weg, Gabriels Beschwörung zu lösen."

The woman stared at his hand. Then she swallowed and nodded and stepped aside. “Kommt rein,” she murmured.

“Vielen Dank, sehr freundlich,” Aziraphale said. He entered her little flat, Crowley on his heels. He heard how she locked the door behind them.

“Mein Wohnzimmer ist das zweite Zimmer auf der linken Seite,” she told them. “Ich hab darin schon Platz gemacht.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Ah, ja, vielen Dank. Sehr aufmerksam,” he complimented her.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and squeezed past Aziraphale in the narrow hallway to enter the living room.

Melanie – which was the woman’s forename – had shoved all furniture aside so that the floor was free. Granted, there was not really too much space, the room was quite small. But it would suffice.

“Das wird wirklich nicht lange dauern,” Aziraphale said as he put down his travelling bag. “Ich brauche lediglich einen Moment, um alles vorzubereiten, Sie wissen ja, wie das so ist. Dann werden wir rasch das Ritual durchführen und dann, meine Gute, werden Sie von allen Engeln und Beschwörungen erlöst sein. Kein Grund, sich Sorgen zu machen. Es ist wirklich sehr simpel.”

“Deine ständigen Beruhigungen sind das, was diese Frau endgültig in den Wahnsinn treiben wird, Aziraphale. Hör auf zu plappern und fang an, sie kann es kaum erwarten, uns wieder loszuwerden.”

Now it was on Aziraphale to roll his eyes. “Bitte entschuldigen Sie ihn,” he said. “Crowley ist eher praktisch veranlagt.”

“Ist schon gut,” Melanie mumbled. “Nachdem du mit dem Erzengel Gabriel in deiner Küche Tee getrunken hast, macht dir ehrlich gesagt nicht mehr viel etwas aus.”

“Warum hat Gabriel Tee bekommen und wir nicht?” asked Crowley.

Melanie looked at him, distraught.

“Er scherzt, meine Gute, er möchte nicht wirklich –”

“Kaffee tut‘s auch,” Crowley interrupted him. Aziraphale sighed.

“Natürlich,” Melanie hurried to say. “Bin gleich wieder da.” Then she left for the kitchen.

“Really, my dear? What are you distressing her so much for?” Aziraphale whispered.

“She’s a mess and would be in the way. Now she has something to do and will leave us alone for the next couple of minutes,” Crowley replied. “Now stop scolding me and get going, angel. We haven’t got all day.”

Aziraphale sighed lowly, but opened his travelling bag. “Make yourself useful and hold this for me,” he ordered and handed Crowley the book. He had marked the Transfer Ritual with a bookmark.

Crowley, who had attempted to make himself comfortable in the armchair, grumbled, but accepted the book and opened it, holding it so that Aziraphale could see it. “Better not make any mistakes, angel,” he said sweetly. “We wouldn’t want another misadventure in this, would we?”

Aziraphale spared him a glare. “I have done this a fair amount of times, thank you very much,” he stated. He got the chalk out of the bag and knelt down onto the floor, beginning to draw two overlapping circles on the parquet.

“Not this particular ritual,” Crowley singsonged. “And there’s always room for error.”

“Do you _want_ something to go wrong?” Aziraphale asked. “Because, if I may remind you, this ritual will also include yourself.”

“No. So be careful with what you’re doing. Are you sure those circles are the right size?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and kept on drawing. He chalked an inner circle in both of the circles he had already drawn, then proceeded by very carefully writing the required sigils around them. He triple-checked them before he went along and added some lines into the space between the circles, dividing the writing into several smaller portions. He triple-checked those lines as well.

He could hear Melanie next door, and he could smell the freshly made coffee. He also realised she had shown up in the door at one point, watching him. But he didn’t let that distract him.

Finally, he got up from the floor and wiped the chalk dust off of his fingers.

“Crowley, mein Lieber, wärst du wohl so freundlich, zu überprüfen, ob alles seine Richtigkeit hat?”

“Hab ich schon gemacht während du gearbeitet hast, ist alles gut so,” Crowley claimed.

“Trotzdem. Lass es uns noch ein letztes Mal gemeinsam überprüfen, in Ordnung?”

Crowley sighed, but cast an attentive glance over the drawing Aziraphale had produced. Aziraphale did the same. You could never be too careful when working with rituals.

“Wie schon gesagt, sieht gut aus,” Crowley stated after a moment. “Können wir jetzt endlich loslegen? Ich will meinen Kaffee haben.”

Aziraphale, once again, rolled his eyes at him. Then he went back to his travelling bag and got the white candles out.

“Jetzt wird‘s gemütlich,” he heard Crowley comment behind him. He ignored it.

He placed the candles at the right spots on the circles. He triple-checked if they really stood on the right spots. Then he nodded, content.

“Fräulein Kleinert,” he asked and turned around to the young woman, “wir sind jetzt bereit für das Ritual. Es wird nur ein paar Minuten dauern. Dann können wir den Kaffee trinken, den Sie freundlicherweise für uns zubereitet haben.”

He smiled at her. She looked absolutely terrified.

“Es ist wirklich ganz simpel. Es kann überhaupt nichts schiefgehen,” he assured her. “Stellen Sie sich bitte einfach in diesen Kreis hier. Ja, den. Sehr gut! Und nun wird Crowley sich in diesen hier stellen – Gute Güte, Crowley, könntest du bitte die Tasse wegstellen! Du kannst Kaffee haben, _nachdem_ das hier erledigt ist! Also, Fräulein Kleinert, Sie haben jetzt nichts weiter zu tun als nur dort zu stehen, in Ordnung? Bleiben Sie einfach in dem Kreis, bis ich Ihnen sage, dass wir fertig sind, das ist alles. Okay? Großartig! Crowley, du weißt ja, wie das geht. Dann fange ich an.”

He stepped away from the circles and grabbed the book. Then he performed the ritual.

He had to give it to Melanie Kleinert that she kept quiet throughout the entire proceeding. She just stood there, in her circle, hands clenched nervously into fists, staring at Aziraphale. Whenever he could, he smiled at her reassuringly.

Crowley, of course, performed flawlessly, but he was used to rituals and he knew Aziraphale would perform flawlessly as well. The ritual that made _him_ nervous was the one they would be executing tonight.

“Das war‘s,” Aziraphale said and closed the book. “Sie sind nun, gute Frau, vollständig von der Beschwörung erlöst.”

“Wirklich?” Melanie asked. “Ich habe gar nichts gespürt.”

“Gut so. Das heißt, dass er es richtig gemacht hat. Andernfalls wärst du in der Hölle gelandet, oder schlimmer, im –”

“Crowley! Bitte! Nein, meine Liebe, er hat recht, es ist gut, dass Sie nichts gespürt haben. Aber glauben Sie mir, das Ritual hat funktioniert. _I_ _ch_ konnte es spüren, und Crowley ebenfalls. Es ist alles überstanden, Sie sind nun frei.”

“Okay… Also können Sie jetzt Gabriel erlösen? Ich habe nichts mehr hiermit zu tun?”

“Überhaupt nichts, Fräulein Kleinert, das versichere ich Ihnen.”

“Wir wollen trotzdem noch den Kaffee haben,” Crowley said.

Melanie let out a long, shaky breath and clutched her shirt over her breast. “Gott sei Dank,” she murmured.

“Der hatte persönlich nichts hiermit zu tun,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale gently took Melanie by her arm and led her to the armchair that she had pushed back against the bookshelf. “Setzen Sie sich, meine Gute,” he told her softly. “Jetzt ist alles erledigt. Sie brauchen sich keine Sorgen mehr zu machen. Crowley, würdest du Ihr den Kaffee und die Schokolade bringen, die wir gekauft haben? Wie trinken sie ihn, Teuerste? Schwarz? Mit Milch und Zucker?”

“Nur Milch,” she mumbled. “Danke, nur Milch, bitte.”

Crowley acted annoyed, but he actually brought the poor woman a cup of the coffee she had prepared for them, with added milk, and he placed the box of chocolates on the armrest, already opened. Aziraphale smiled at him warmly, and the corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched back at him in response.

“Hey, Aziraphale,” he said, “komm, holen wir uns selbst auch eine Tasse.” He nodded towards the tray with the pot and cups that Melanie had put down on a dresser near the door.

“Oh, ich –”

“ _Komm schon_ , Aziraphale.”

“Oh. Ja...”

They went over to the dresser. As he was pouring coffee into two cups, Crowley leaned over to Aziraphale conspiratorially. “We should entrance her,” he whispered. “Make her believe all this was a dream. There are things human minds are not equipped to handle, and accidentally summoning bloody _Gabriel_ and then being saved by two other supernatural entities is one of these things, believe me. It’s better for her if she thinks it wasn’t real.”

Aziraphale frowned and cast a glance over his shoulder. Melanie was staring at the circles impassively and hadn’t touched her coffee or chocolates yet. He sighed and shook his head slightly.

“Yes, we should maybe do that,” he agreed. “But we have to clean up before we leave, then, or she will notice it hasn’t been a dream after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll do the entrancing, you’ll do the cleaning. Then we both did what we are meant to do, after all. You ready?”

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley grabbed his cup of coffee (more milk than coffee, and at least four pieces of sugar) and sauntered back to the woman in her armchair. “Weißt du was, Melanie,” he said casually. “Es gibt da eine Sache, von der ich möchte, dass du sie weißt, bevor wir gehen. Ich bin gar kein Engel. In Wirklichkeit bin ich ein Dämon. Überraschung!”

The moment Melanie stared at him in shock was the moment Crowley snapped his fingers and set her mind into deep sleep. Aziraphale glowered at him disapprovingly.

“What did you have to say that for?” he scolded. “You didn’t have to scare the poor thing even further.”

“It has bothered me all day,” Crowley informed him and popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth. “There are certain things that eat at my pride, angel.”

Aziraphale snorted and shook his head. The thought that he would have been very displeased with having someone believe he was a demon, too, was shoved aside without paying it any further attention.

He let the circles disappear and packed everything he had brought back into his travelling bag. Since they didn’t know what the living room had looked like before they had arrived, Crowley questioned the entranced woman about it and Aziraphale arranged everything accordingly. Then he asked Melanie what she had done with the book.

“Es ist in der untersten Schublade vom Küchenschrank,” she told them flatly. “In eine rote Plastiktüte eingewickelt.”

Aziraphale got it from there.

“Will you give this to Gabriel when we’re back in London?” Crowley asked with a smirk.

Aziraphale, holding the package with all the care his bibliophilic heart was filled with, gave him the worried look of someone who knows that what the other person is suggesting would be the correct thing to do, but deep inside longs for it to be different.

“I see what I’ll do with it when it’s time,” he muttered, gently stowing the book in his bag. “I mean, this is an extremely rare and important book, full of the history of our own kind. Surely, keeping it safe in my shop where no one will ever lay a hand on it is acceptable in order not to destroy what is probably the last witness of this ancient knowledge.”

“Sure.” Crowley grinned. “Can we leave then? I think we’re done here.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, let us go,” he said and grabbed his travelling bag. “Oh, wait. We need to take the cups and everything back to the kitchen, or she will realise she’s had guests.”

“Smart angel,” Crowley complimented him. He put his cup down on the tray and carried everything into the kitchen, where he miracled clean what needed cleaning and stowed everything where it belonged.

Aziraphale, in the meantime, talked to the woman. “In fünf Minuten wirst du aufwachen,” he told her softly. “Und du wirst denken, dass all das hier nichts als ein Traum gewesen ist. Ein Traum von Engeln, die zu dir kamen und dich gesegnet haben, und dir Liebe und Stärke gaben, und den Willen, für den Rest deines Lebens Gutes zu tun.”

He gently put his palm on her forehead to release the stress that had been bothering her for the past few days.

Then Crowley impatiently called from the hall, and Aziraphale grabbed his travelling bag and left the flat with him.


	8. Chapter 7 (English version)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will play in Germany and will feature a German character.  
> Therefore, most of the conversation held in this chapter is actually held in German.  
> Since adding 1389248 footnotes to this chapter would kinda hinder the flow, I will post this chapter twice.  
> One chapter will feature the dialogue in German, like it would really be held.  
> The other version of the chapter will be completely in English and will function as a translation.  
> This chapter right here is the English version.

The woman that opened the door for them was somewhere in her twenties, and she was short, chubby, blonde, and anxious.

Aziraphale couldn’t blame her. He understood her love for, and interest in, old books; she must have been so excited to find this precious in the hidden chamber. It had been wrong to take it home with her, but even for that, Aziraphale couldn’t blame her. He, probably, would have had a look at it himself first, too, before he would have handed it in. (He _would_ have handed it in. Of _course_ , he would have.)

To try out the ritual had, presumably, been an act of sheer passion and curiosity. Just like those Ouija boards people used. You knew it would end badly for you if it _really_ worked, so you somehow hoped that it wouldn’t, but you still wanted to try it, simply for the kick of it.

Having an actual angel, real and in the flesh, appear on you was certainly _not_ what this poor woman had expected. She probably hadn’t even really believed in angels, not in a way that makes you okay with them just popping up right there in your living room. If something like this happened to you, all you’d want was to make it unhappen. But she couldn’t.

Now, an Archangel, one of the few angels everyone actually _knows_ about, was stuck here on Earth because of her, and it certainly didn’t help you feel good and safe if an _Archangel_ had a reason to be super angry at you. Especially not if you had any idea what angels really were like. They could get more enraged and drastic than you would expect from them, Aziraphale knew that.

And the only way to release said Archangel – in the hopes he would then be appeased and not come back to torment you, or would send you straight to the deepest pits of Hell – was to let two _other_ angels into your house, and believe them when they said they had a solution, and allow them to do another ritual, even though the last ritual you had witnessed had _gotten_ you into this entire mess. Not to mention you had to believe those two men standing in front of your door actually _were_ angels, and not some random creeps. Though, creeps, at least, were actual people, no supernatural entities with unfathomable powers.

So, yes, it was no wonder that poor girl looked absolutely stressed.

Aziraphale tried to make it better by smiling at her and holding out the chocolates he had bought at the airport. He had read somewhere that chocolates made you feel better. This woman definitely needed that.

“Hello, Miss Kleinert,” he said softly. “Thank you so much for having us. May we please come in?”

She studied them suspiciously. Aziraphale tried to smile even friendlier.

“Are you really angels?” she whispered.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale said. He turned his hand and let a blue light appear on it for a second. “I am so sorry we have to bother you, dear lady. But I am afraid this is the only way to undo Gabriel’s summoning.”

The woman stared at his hand. Then she swallowed and nodded and stepped aside. “Come in,” she murmured.

“Thank you, so kind,” Aziraphale said. He entered her little flat, Crowley on his heels. He heard how she locked the door behind them.

“My living room is through the second door on the left,” she told them. “I already made space in there.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Ah, yes, thank you. Very thoughtful,” he complimented her.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and squeezed past Aziraphale in the narrow hallway to enter the living room.

Melanie – which was the woman’s forename – had shoved all furniture aside so that the floor was free. Granted, there was not really too much space, the room was quite small. But it would suffice.

“This really won’t take long,” Aziraphale said as he put down his travelling bag. “I just need a moment to prepare everything, you know how these things go. Then we will quickly perform the ritual and then, my dear lady, you will be free of angels and summonings altogether. Nothing to worry about. It’s really very simple.”

“Your constant reassurance is what will drive this woman insane for good, Aziraphale. Stop babbling and get going, she can’t wait to get rid of us again.”

Now it was on Aziraphale to roll his eyes. “Please excuse him,” he said. “Crowley is rather practical.”

“It’s alright,” Melanie mumbled. “After you drank tea with the Archangel Gabriel in your kitchen, you don’t mind much anymore, honestly.”

“Why did Gabriel get tea and we don’t?” asked Crowley.

Melanie looked at him, distraught.

“He is kidding, my dear, he doesn’t actually –”

“Coffee will do as well,” Crowley interrupted him. Aziraphale sighed.

“Of course,” Melanie hurried to say. “I’ll be right back.” Then she left for the kitchen.

“Really, my dear? What are you distressing her so much for?” Aziraphale whispered.

“She’s a mess and would be in the way. Now she has something to do and will leave us alone for the next couple of minutes,” Crowley replied. “Now stop scolding me and get going, angel. We haven’t got all day.”

Aziraphale sighed lowly, but opened his travelling bag. “Make yourself useful and hold this for me,” he ordered and handed Crowley the book. He had marked the Transfer Ritual with a bookmark.

Crowley, who had attempted to make himself comfortable in the armchair, grumbled, but accepted the book and opened it, holding it so that Aziraphale could see it. “Better not make any mistakes, angel,” he said sweetly. “We wouldn’t want another misadventure in this, would we?”

Aziraphale spared him a glare. “I have done this a fair amount of times, thank you very much,” he stated. He got the chalk out of the bag and knelt down onto the floor, beginning to draw two overlapping circles on the parquet.

“Not this particular ritual,” Crowley singsonged. “And there’s always room for error.”

“Do you _want_ something to go wrong?” Aziraphale asked. “Because, if I may remind you, this ritual will also include yourself.”

“No. So be careful with what you’re doing. Are you sure those circles are the right size?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and kept on drawing. He chalked an inner circle in both of the circles he had already drawn, then proceeded by very carefully writing the required sigils around them. He triple-checked them before he went along and added some lines into the space between the circles, dividing the writing into several smaller portions. He triple-checked those lines as well.

He could hear Melanie next door, and he could smell the freshly made coffee. He also realised she had shown up in the door at one point, watching him. But he didn’t let that distract him.

Finally, he got up from the floor and wiped the chalk dust off of his fingers.

“Crowley, my dear, would you be so kind as to check if everything is correct?”

“I did while you worked, it’s all fine,” Crowley claimed.

“Still. Let’s check it together one last time, shall we?”

Crowley sighed, but cast an attentive glance over the drawing Aziraphale had produced. Aziraphale did the same. You could never be too careful when working with rituals.

“Like I said, it’s fine,” Crowley stated after a moment. “Can we get on with it now? I really want to have that coffee.”

Aziraphale, once again, rolled his eyes at him. Then he went back to his travelling bag and got the white candles out.

“Now it’s getting cosy,” he heard Crowley comment behind him. He ignored it.

He placed the candles at the right spots on the circles. He triple-checked if they really stood on the right spots. Then he nodded, content.

“Miss Kleinert,” he asked and turned around to the young woman, “we are ready for the ritual now. It will only take a few minutes. Then we can have the coffee you so kindly made for us.”

He smiled at her. She looked absolutely terrified.

“It’s very simple, really. Nothing can go wrong,” he assured her. “Just step into this circle here, please. Yes, this one. Well done! And now Crowley will step into this one here – Goodness, Crowley, could you put the cup away, please! You can have coffee _after_ this is done! Now, Miss Kleinert, you have to do absolutely nothing but stand there, alright? Just remain in the circle until I tell you we are done, that’s all. Okay? Marvellous! Crowley, you know how this works. I shall start then.”

He stepped away from the circles and grabbed the book. Then he performed the ritual.

He had to give it to Melanie Kleinert that she kept quiet throughout the entire proceeding. She just stood there, in her circle, hands clenched nervously into fists, staring at Aziraphale. Whenever he could, he smiled at her reassuringly.

Crowley, of course, performed flawlessly, but he was used to rituals and he knew Aziraphale would perform flawlessly as well. The ritual that made _him_ nervous was the one they would be executing tonight.

“That was it,” Aziraphale said and closed the book. “You are now, dear lady, completely free of this binding.”

“Really?” Melanie asked. “I didn’t feel anything.”

“Well, good. That means he’s done it right. Otherwise, you would have ended up in Hell, or worse, in –”

“Crowley! Please! No, my dear, he is right, it’s good you didn’t feel anything. But trust me, the ritual worked. _I_ could feel it, and so could Crowley. It’s all done now, you are free.”

“Okay… So now you can release Gabriel? I have nothing more to do with this?”

“Absolutely nothing, Miss Kleinert, I assure you.”

“We still want that coffee, though,” Crowley said.

Melanie let out a long, shaky breath and clutched her shirt over her breast. “Thank God,” she murmured.

“He had nothing to do with this personally,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale gently took Melanie by her arm and led her to the armchair that she had pushed back against the bookshelf. “Sit down, my dear,” he told her softly. “It’s all settled now. You need not worry anymore. Crowley, would you get her the coffee and the chocolates we brought? How do you drink it, dear? Black? With milk and sugar?”

“Just milk,” she mumbled. “Thank you, just milk, please.”

Crowley acted annoyed, but he actually brought the poor woman a cup of the coffee she had prepared for them, with added milk, and he placed the box of chocolates on the armrest, already opened. Aziraphale smiled at him warmly, and the corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched back at him in response.

“Hey, Aziraphale,” he said, “come on, let’s get a cup for ourselves as well.” He nodded towards the tray with the pot and cups that Melanie had put down on a dresser near the door.

“Oh, I –”

“Come _on_ , Aziraphale.”

“Oh. Right...”

They went over to the dresser. As he was pouring coffee into two cups, Crowley leaned over to Aziraphale conspiratorially. “We should entrance her,” he whispered. “Make her believe all this was a dream. There are things human minds are not equipped to handle, and accidentally summoning bloody _Gabriel_ and then being saved by two other supernatural entities is one of these things, believe me. It’s better for her if she thinks it wasn’t real.”

Aziraphale frowned and cast a glance over his shoulder. Melanie was staring at the circles impassively and hadn’t touched her coffee or chocolates yet. He sighed and shook his head slightly.

“Yes, we should maybe do that,” he agreed. “But we have to clean up before we leave, then, or she will notice it hasn’t been a dream after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll do the entrancing, you’ll do the cleaning. Then we both did what we are meant to do, after all. You ready?”

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley grabbed his cup of coffee (more milk than coffee, and at least four pieces of sugar) and sauntered back to the woman in her armchair. “You know what, Melanie,” he said casually. “There’s one thing I want you to be aware of before we leave. I am not an angel. In fact, I am actually a demon. Surprise!”

The moment Melanie stared at him in shock was the moment Crowley snapped his fingers and set her mind into deep sleep. Aziraphale glowered at him disapprovingly.

“What did you have to say that for?” he scolded. “You didn’t have to scare the poor thing even further.”

“It has bothered me all day,” Crowley informed him and popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth. “There are certain things that eat at my pride, angel.”

Aziraphale snorted and shook his head. The thought that he would have been very displeased with having someone believe he was a demon, too, was shoved aside without paying it any further attention.

He let the circles disappear and packed everything he had brought back into his travelling bag. Since they didn’t know what the living room had looked like before they had arrived, Crowley questioned the entranced woman about it and Aziraphale arranged everything accordingly. Then he asked Melanie what she had done with the book.

“It’s in the lowest drawer of the kitchen unit,” she told them flatly. “Wrapped in a red plastic bag.”

Aziraphale got it from there.

“Will you give this to Gabriel when we’re back in London?” Crowley asked with a smirk.

Aziraphale, holding the package with all the care his bibliophilic heart was filled with, gave him the worried look of someone who knows that what the other person is suggesting would be the correct thing to do, but deep inside longs for it to be different.

“I see what I’ll do with it when it’s time,” he muttered, gently stowing the book in his bag. “I mean, this is an extremely rare and important book, full of the history of our own kind. Surely, keeping it safe in my shop where no one will ever lay a hand on it is acceptable in order not to destroy what is probably the last witness of this ancient knowledge.”

“Sure.” Crowley grinned. “Can we leave then? I think we’re done here.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, let us go,” he said and grabbed his travelling bag. “Oh, wait. We need to take the cups and everything back to the kitchen, or she will realise she’s had guests.”

“Smart angel,” Crowley complimented him. He put his cup down on the tray and carried everything into the kitchen, where he miracled clean what needed cleaning and stowed everything where it belonged.

Aziraphale, in the meantime, talked to the woman. “In five minutes, you will wake up,” he told her softly. “And you will think all this has been nothing but a dream. A dream about angels who came to you and blessed you and gave you love and strength and the will to do good for the rest of your life.”

He gently put his palm on her forehead to release the stress that had been bothering her for the past few days.

Then Crowley impatiently called from the hall, and Aziraphale grabbed his travelling bag and left the flat with him.


	9. Chapter 8

They had enough time left to pay the cathedral a visit. Neither had been there in ages, and both had to admit it looked quite lovely still.

It was always nice to visit places that had been there for centuries. Human life was fleeting, changing, and shifting – which was what made it so interesting and wonderful, of course. But sometimes, it gave you a bit of comfort to see that some things were outlasting and, like you, were living on while everything around you vanished.

Aziraphale was running his fingers along the pillars as they slowly walked through the church, bathing in the colourful light that fell in through the stained glass windows. The stones were old and full of memories. Sometimes, places like this helped you to remember, too.

“Do you recall when this was the highest building in the world?” he asked as they stood in the crossing, leaning their heads back to look at the mosaic on the ceiling.

Crowley shook his head. “No. When was that?”

“Ah. 19th century. You were asleep then.”

Crowley hummed lowly.

“You know what,” he mused, “we should come back here when all this is over. We haven’t been on vacation for quite a while. We could do Germany first, then Italy, France, Spain. Maybe fly over to Greece after that. You know, looking at the old sights, the new sights, enjoying the food, the atmosphere. London is great, but I need a break from it.”

Aziraphale had to smile softly. “That would be wonderful,” he said. “I would enjoy that very much.”

He saw Crowley smile as well out of the corner of his eye.

“Good,” the demon replied. “We’ll talk about that later then.”

Aziraphale nodded with a smile and linked his arm with Crowley’s.

They bought some more chocolates on their way to the airport and shared them in the car. It was quite a bummer that Queen wasn’t playing on the radio, but they could live with it for the short while that the ride took.

Back on the plane, however, Aziraphale could feel Crowley getting more and more nervous. He started to become fidgety and uneasy and he began to babble about random things completely out of the blue. After millennia of experience with him, Aziraphale knew these signs of panic.

He couldn’t say that he blamed Crowley. He was pretty sure that Gabriel wouldn’t attack him, but who knew? Crowley was a demon, after all, and Gabriel was an angel with very strict standards. Maybe he _did_ feel like using his newly regained powers to smite the first demon he could get his hands on.

Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s forearm and let soothing energies flow over to the demon. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Crowley. And if he had to antagonise Gabriel in the process, so be it.

“Look how huge this town seems to be when you fly over it,” he mumbled as London came into sight beneath them. “I always forget how big it really is.”

“Things always get bigger the closer they are to you,” Crowley replied. There was this voice that he always had when he was _thinking_ about things. Aziraphale squeezed his arm tighter and stroked it with his thumb.

When they left the plane, he still held on to Crowley tightly.

“Can you stop here, please?” he asked on their way back to the bookshop. “I need to make a purchase.”

“At Waterstones?” Crowley frowned. “Don’t you have enough books at your own shop?”

“Not these,” Aziraphale said and opened the door. “I’ll be right back,” he promised and vanished into the store.

A moment later, he came out with a huge bag in one hand, and a tiny bag in the other. He handed the tiny bag to Crowley as he got back into the car.

“What’s this?” the demon asked.

“Chocolate fudge brownies,” Aziraphale replied. “For celebrating when we finally got rid of Gabriel.”

“Ah… Well, then.”

“I bought three,” Aziraphale went on, fully aware of the nervous swallow Crowley gave. “One for you, one for me, and one to share.”

“So two for you,” Crowley teased with flat tones and started the engine. The bag remained in his lap as he drove, a silent reassurance that nothing bad would happen to him.

He parked the Bentley in front of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Just when Aziraphale had put down all of the bags in his back room, the bell above the shop door jingled, announcing that the two Archangels had arrived. They were laughing about something. That was a good sign. At least, Gabriel seemed to be in a good mood, then.

Aziraphale cast a glance to Crowley, who had joined him in the back room. He looked absolutely horrible. All Aziraphale wanted to do was give him a long, firm hug and tell him that everything would turn out fine, but right now, with Gabriel and Raphael in the next room, that certainly wasn’t the best idea. So he just smiled at him reassuringly, and then left the back room to meet the other angels on their way through the shop.

“I see you found your way back here,” he stated.

“Yup,” Raphael confirmed. He had his arm thrown around Gabriel and grinned. “How was Germany?” he asked, with a terrible German accent.

“Successful,” Aziraphale replied. “The summoning is now coded on Crowley, who can’t wait to let go of it again. So if we could get it over with, I think everyone involved would be ever so grateful.”

“Agreed,” Gabriel grumbled.

“Alright. I shall get the book and the chalk and the candles, then. The sooner we get through with this, the better.”

Gabriel nodded and Raphael just smiled.

Aziraphale returned to the back room and got the utensils he had already used for the ritual in Germany out of his travelling bag. The book with the Summoning Text he still left in there. There was no need to bring this one up yet.

The volume with the ritual that could break the bond between Gabriel and Crowley held a bookmark at the page that they needed. This time, Aziraphale miracled Gabriel’s hands clean without even asking him beforehand.

“Hold this,” he said and shoved the open book in his grip. “Raphael, would you kindly help me with the preparations? I am certain no one here wants Crowley to be involved in any of these proceedings.”

The demon was standing a bit aside, leaning against the wall. He had his hands buried deep into his pockets to a) look cool and calm, and b) not fiddle around with anything nervously.

Raphael raised his eyebrows with a bemused little smile, but nodded. “My pleasure,” he proclaimed sweetly.

Together, they began to chalk the required shapes, sigils, and words onto the wooden floor of the bookshop. Aziraphale was far more trained in this than Raphael was, since the Archangel didn’t have to resort to these methods to contact Heaven. He _was_ in Heaven most of the time. Aziraphale, however, had used rituals all the time before Above had established the phone connection, which had only happened a few decades ago. So, for Aziraphale, this was common practice.

Still, Raphael worked very scrupulously. Aziraphale was faster, but he didn’t have to correct a thing when they began to double- and triple-check the chalking. Gabriel checked them again as well, and Aziraphale knew Crowley did the same from where he stood, even though he still acted impassive.

Finally, they placed the candles at the right spots and checked everything for the very last time.

“I think we can begin now,” Aziraphale stated. “Gabriel, Crowley? Are you ready?”

Gabriel nodded. “I can’t wait for this to be over,” he declared and handed the book back to Aziraphale. “My human body is itching and tensing, and I’m starting to feel emaciated. I want my powers back finally.”

“Whatever it takes to have you leave my playing field,” Crowley stated from where he leaned against the wall. “There are far too many angels in my proximity right now.”

He wasn’t even joking with this, Aziraphale knew. But he still managed to make it sound snotty.

Under Gabriel’s glare, Crowley pushed himself off the wall and stepped into the circle Aziraphale gestured to. Gabriel stepped into the other.

“So, we’re clear?” Crowley asked, sounding ever so casual. Only someone as familiar with him as Aziraphale could hear the slight tremble underneath his act. “I release you, you leave this place immediately without any further ado? I don’t tell anyone about my services for you, you stop forcing Aziraphale on my trail so much?”

Gabriel studied him with narrowed eyes, lips pressed together into a thin, grim line. Then he nodded grudgingly.

“I’ll stick to my word,” he promised Crowley. “But if I get wind of you not keeping your end of the deal, you’ll regret crossing me for the rest of eternity.”

Crowley managed to grin convincingly. “Oh, no worries, Gabriel,” he purred. “I’ll enjoy the potential of this knowledge far too much to waste it that easily.”

Gabriel’s face grew dark. He probably wanted to smite Crowley right on the spot, but if he angered the demon, he _would_ spill everything about this precarious deal, and Gabriel could not afford that. He didn’t know that Crowley actually was far more scared of him than he could ever be of Crowley.

“Fine,” Aziraphale hurried to say. “Let’s get started then, shall we? I will instruct you on what to do during the ritual, and _please_ follow said instructions without making a fuss about them, or something might go wrong. Alright? Good. Uh, Raphael, would you mind standing aside a bit so I can… Thank you. Oh, and please dim the light. Okay. All is ready. Here we go then.”

He cleared his throat.

The book was heavy in his arms. Its binding was rough against his fingertips, the ink stood out black against the light page. Aziraphale, who was usually well composed and steady, felt the blood throbbing against his temples.

He opened his mouth and began to read.

Aziraphale knew every language that ever had existed on Earth; even the ones that had long been dead. Still, he was very careful not to mispronounce a word or to trip over a sentence. Every tiny mistake could turn this ritual into a risk.

Finally, he had reached the end of the first writing.

“I now need Crowley to perform something,” he then announced softly. He turned the book around so that Crowley could see the pages, and pointed at a sigil, drawn in red ink. “You need to draw this on Gabriel’s forehead,” he said. “And then say the words written below this drawing.”

Gabriel looked as if he wanted to kill both of them.

“I _told_ you I would draw on Gabriel’s face,” Crowley quipped, but Aziraphale heard the nervous tremor in his voice. Still, Crowley managed to keep his hand steady as he reached up to connect the tip of his thumb to the Archangel’s forehead.

Gabriel gritted his teeth and hissed in suppressed pain. The sigil that Crowley drew with his finger appeared as a red marking on Gabriel’s skin, like a brand caused simply by the touch.

Aziraphale cast a glance over at Raphael. The other Archangel was standing behind Gabriel, watching what was happening. Peculiarly, he seemed very relaxed.

Crowley turned his head to have a look at the book again. Aziraphale tapped his index finger next to the words he needed to read out loud. They were also printed in red.

Crowley recited them faultlessly, filling in both of their names where they were needed. The sigil on Gabriel’s forehead began to glow, changing from red to white. A low humming noise started to fill the room.

The last words, Crowley remembered and turned his head back to look at Gabriel. His sunglasses hid his yellow eyes, but the intensity of his glance was palpable. It was a challenging glance, a last reassurance that both of them would stick to their word. Gabriel held his gaze, eyes glimmering with unspoken threats and promises.

“I hereby release you from your binding,” Crowley said.

Light exploded inside Gabriel’s circle. It shot up his legs, his torso, his head, engulfing him in blinding, bright whiteness. A relieved groan escaped him as he lay back his head.

The light around him began to form wings. They grew and unfolded, and when the light retreated, Gabriel stood there in all his glory: Tall, broad, with big, grey and brown wings, matching his hair and clothing. A bit of the light remained above his head, surrounding it like a halo. He looked intimidatingly majestic.

It was absolutely annoying.

His purple eyes lingered on Crowley. Aziraphale closed the book and put it away, just in case he needed to intervene in something.

But Gabriel and Crowley just stared at each other.

Finally, the Archangel raised his chin and let his wings disappear.

“Don’t misinterpret this, demon,” he said in his usual, arrogant tone. “We have an agreement and I will stick to it, but this agreement won’t overwrite our basic relationship. It only applies to this very situation and does not mean you get a free pass on anything else. Next time we see each other, everything will be back to normal.”

“I don’t intend to see you again,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale was surprised by how convincingly snide his voice sounded. “And you seem to forget that you came to _me_ for help, not the other way round. If anyone here has the right to make angry remarks, it is me, not you.”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. Crowley was right, of course. Gabriel had no reason to be this hostile, since Crowley had helped him out of a _very_ unpleasant situation, without really asking for much. Actually, he had, of course, helped Aziraphale out of an unpleasant situation. But Gabriel wasn’t aware of that.

Aziraphale knew, though, how hard it was to fully trust a demon. It had taken him some time, even though he had never been particularly hostile towards Crowley and had never minded chatting or being with him. Gabriel, probably, was just very afraid of the power that Crowley now held over him. He couldn’t know that the worst thing Crowley would do was to make fun of him around Aziraphale for the rest of their shared eternity.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said in Gabriel’s place. “For helping us out.”

“My pleasure, angel,” Crowley replied sweetly. “See, _this_ is how you treat a demon who helped you, Gabriel.”

Before Gabriel’s face could turn any sourer, Raphael placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him out of the circle. “Indeed, we thank you,” he said and smiled at Crowley. “It is because of you that I have my loved one back. Now we will do you the favour of finally leaving you alone after all these strains. Gabriel and I have some things to catch up on and the both of you should do the exact same.”

He grinned widely and winked at the both of them. Aziraphale, who realised Raphael really meant _exactly_ the same, stared at him with big eyes.

Gabriel seemed to interpret his partner’s words differently. He loosened up a little and nodded at Aziraphale. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said.

That he actually acknowledged Aziraphale’s help and didn’t just take it as a given, startled Aziraphale almost as much as Raphael’s implication towards him and Crowley. He blinked slowly.

“Now before we go: What happened to the Summoning Text? I hope the woman is not still in possession of it.”

Aziraphale got a hold of himself and shook his head hurriedly. “Oh, no! No, no. She doesn’t have it anymore, we took care of that,” he promised.

Gabriel studied him suspiciously, full well knowing they stood in a shop bursting with old and valuable books, so Aziraphale quickly started a distraction manoeuvre. “Wait, I’ve got something for you!” he announced. Under Gabriel’s, Raphael’s, and Crowley’s confused glances, he hurried over to the big bag from Waterstones and presented it to his direct superior.

Gabriel took it, confused, and had a look inside. “… Is that..?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. All seven of them. I thought you might want to know how it continues.”

Gabriel raised his head and smiled at him. It was a genuine smile, slightly amused and definitely thankful, and it was the first time ever that Aziraphale had seen it directed at him. He smiled back.

“Don’t let him drink wine while he reads those, Raphael. Or you will end up listening to rants about three-headed dogs in a castle.”

“It’s a _school_!” Gabriel clarified.

Raphael laughed and grabbed his arm gently. “Let’s go, darling. You can tell me about the dog when we’re done Up There. I’m sure Michael will be thrilled to see you.”

“Michael would be a bloody Slytherin,” Gabriel grumbled, but he followed Raphael to the shop door. The bell above it jingled again, wishing them goodbye, and then they were gone. Aziraphale felt a weight dropping from his shoulders.

“Did you just give Gabriel the _Harry Potter_ series?” Crowley asked, bewildered.

“Yes. He started reading it yesterday, after you were gone.”

Now it was on Crowley to blink in confusion.

Aziraphale chuckled softly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Would you like some tea, my dear?” he asked, smiling at him. “We have some chocolate fudge brownies waiting for us, if you recall.”

Crowley looked at him, and a soft smile began to spread over his features. “That’s right,” he said, and Aziraphale could hear the relief of this all being over enriching the tone of his voice. “I won’t say no to that after the horrible coffee we had in Germany.”

Aziraphale laughed. “But we still want to go back there on vacation, right?” he asked as he led Crowley to the sofa.

“Oh, absolutely! But to nicer locations than a random woman’s flat,” Crowley determined.

They had tea and ate their brownies. Crowley _did_ get to eat some of the second, but it definitely wasn’t a fair share. They talked a lot, over places to visit, things to be seen, and when it got late, Aziraphale removed the tea service and got them the wine, and then they talked some more, enjoying each other’s company.

It wasn’t a fast form of Catching Up, admittedly, but they never had gone fast in their relationship. It was a slow and careful step-by-step, gently inching closer to each other, always taking a little bit more and getting away with it.

It was going on a vacation together and being in each other’s company the whole trip through. It was remembering the last time they had been somewhere together and talking about old memories. It was getting drunk on good wine and stuffed with good food and sitting close to each other on a bench in the night air. It was sharing a little house by the sea and staying there longer than they had intended.

It was sharing a sofa.

Sharing a bed.

It was touching in ways they hadn’t touched each other before.

There was no reason to rush it, they had all of eternity.

It was loving each other in any form that there was.


	10. Epilogue

Aziraphale’s phone rang late in the morning. Carefully, not to wake Crowley who still lay curled up against him on the sofa, he threw back the blanket and got to his feet.

“Yes?” he asked as he grabbed the receiver and tightened the belt around his waist with his other hand. Luckily, the phone on his wall didn’t have a video function. He would hate someone seeing him in nothing but his dressing gown.

“Sanael,” the voice on the other end said.

Aziraphale leaned against the wall with his shoulder and frowned in concentrated thought. “Hufflepuff,” he finally determined.

“What, Hufflepuff? I actually thought about him as Ravenclaw.”

“Good grace, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, “have you even _read_ the books? There is no way _Sanael_ would be in _Ravenclaw._ ”

“He’s smart and witty,” Gabriel defended himself.

“He’s loyal, brave, and kind,” Aziraphale corrected. “He might be a Gryffindor, but I think his kindness and his care for others is more outstanding than his courage.”

“Definitely Gryffindor rather than Hufflepuff, then,” Gabriel said.

“Slytherin!” Raphael called from the background. Aziraphale and Gabriel groaned in unison.

“ _He_ is a Ravenclaw,” Aziraphale said. “Annoying humour, sarcasm, and a permanent grin.”

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Gabriel grumbled.

“Well, you would know,” Raphael called again.

Aziraphale grimaced and simply hung up.

He cast a glance in the back room to assure himself that Crowley was still sleeping. Then he went upstairs, cleaned up, and dressed, before he returned to his shop and got some money from his desk drawer.

It was a beautiful day in the City of Westminster. It was cold, but sunny, and the promise of winter already hung in the air.

On his way from the bakery, the freshly bought pastries in their paper bag rustled on Aziraphale’s arm. He would make eggs and coffee when he returned, and then he would do the crossword puzzle and Crowley would read him peculiar facts from his phone while they ate.

Sometimes, catching up was adapting to each other.

And sometimes, adapting to each other meant making your significant other breakfast while he slept, and smiling widely when he hugged you from behind with his heavily tousled hair, mumbling a _Good Morning_ in your ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, story finished! :)  
> Thanks to everyone for reading, and special thanks to everyone who left kudos <3  
> And the absolutely most special thanks to the people who left one or even several comments, you guys make me the happiest person :3


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